


Welcome to Hell's Kitchen

by AgelessLight



Series: Soul Searching [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anatoly Ranskahov Lives, Crossover, Daredevil: Not Season One Compliant, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Freeform, Gen, HP: EWE, Master of Death Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant, Ranskahov Brothers deserve love, Vladimir Ranskahov Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgelessLight/pseuds/AgelessLight
Summary: They always say, "Do not go looking for love, for that is when you find it."





	1. Chapter 1

_February 2, 2015_

 

It was late evening when Pleione Potter completed her journey to America. Travelling via portkey still made her nauseous. She was unceremoniously dumped onto a hard surface as she never quite perfected her form. The Potter heiress was thankful it was late at night and she had time to catch her bearings. If forced to move, she believed she would be sick. Just chunder right there in the streets.

Eventually her breathing evened out and her head stopped spinning. Still nauseous and worn out she knew she would still be feeling the effects of international travel for a few days. The night was dull and dreary. Clouds and smog covered most the sky, with very few stars visible. The weather almost reminded her of England.

Forcing herself up into a sitting position, she observed her surroundings. She had landed on pavement and no one was out on either end of the street, but she could hear the city loud and clear. Aptly named, the City That Never Sleeps, New York, was full of life even on a weekday night. It was jarring for her, having spent most of her life in the quiet suburbs of Surry or the deep country of Europe’s magical community.

Now her stomach bothered her from a different feeling, a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Britain was quiet even in highly populated areas, there was only that small hum that was easily overlooked. But here, that could never be true. New York City demanded attention.

Back home despite the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley she was easily spotted amongst the crowd. Pleione was tired of her life being on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ and craved anonymity. Even with the benefits of magic she barely had any privacy and couldn’t trust the intentions of most witches and wizards that approached her. The One Who Lived saved magical Britain and would not spend another decade trapped in a house. Especially one she owned. So the only option left, was to move far enough away where magical Britain’s reach could not extend to her anymore.

America was very young in terms of magical history and her many communities were diverse and not as set in traditions as Britain or China. Ideally, no one would care she was The Pleione Potter. Out of all the magical lands in the world, America was the most advanced in mixing muggle and magical lifestyle. American citizens laughed at all the “inbred backwater hicks” like her and those back in Europe. It was the perfect land to get lost in, and may Merlin and Morgana help any who attempted to find her. For they would also get lost in this land of dreams. It helped, that in this country citizens usually spoke English, though crude and broken as it was. Overall, she felt she could fit right in and be comfortable in America, in ways she never was in England.

Accompanied by goodbyes from those closest to her, she left. With what she hoped was the silent approval of those she lost during the war; she moved across the ocean. To Manhattan. Without planning her future path. For two decades Fate dictated her life before she was even born. Pleione was excited to see where magic and her own choices could lead her. Though there was no snow on the ground, it was brass monkeys outside as Ron would have said, and she needed to find shelter. Turning sharply on her heel she headed from what looked to be an industrial complex and began walking towards hopefully main roads. All she had to do was head towards the noise and lights, and she was sure she would be fine.

 

 

For some time, the only sound that could be heard was her breath and the echoes of her footsteps on pavement. At times city noise or more correctly muggle noise, would blare loudly reminding her she was not alone. The new chapter of her life was starting now. Smog still blocked the stars and she made a note to find a place once she was set-up where she could get a clear view of them. She wanted to compare the sky to what she would see when she would lay out at the Burrow or more recently the rooftop of Grimmauld Place.

Her first view of an American was interesting. Lost in her own thoughts, she did not notice the man until only a few feet separated them. Instinct and honed reflexes moved her body without conscious thought and the Elder wand was pointed directly at him. She was just as spooked of the homeless man hiding in the shadows as he was of her. He bolted before she could state her intentions to not harm him. Pausing a breath, she decided for safety and peace of mind to keep the wand out and gripped loosely in her hand. If she needed to, she could always quickly place it up a sleeve and appear normal.

Soon lamps lined the streets and she was coming up to a bridge that was almost glowing in light. Looking up into the distant sky she could finally see enough lights to blind her. The lights ascended to heights she never thought imaginable; as if they could reach the stars. Vibrant colors outshone even the stars and it took her breath away. The sight warmed her in an impossible way.

 

 

When she just came up to the lighted bridge she noticed a commotion in an empty lot to her left. Instinct almost over took her. Senses stretched out, while she attempted to keep her distance and not draw attention to herself. It became clear she was witnessing a fight; a fist fight. Not a mugging and they repeatedly swung at each other. It was none of her business but it seemed dodgy, and her magic flared inside of her, ready to lash out.

The men seemed empowered, driven by instinct. It was like watching a fight between death eaters and members of the DA. It was raw and emotional; it was not an even fight. Silently, Pleione cast a _homenum revelio_ spell, and learned that though their focus was solely on each other there were two others farther back in the empty lot, and a few in the large motor cars. No one else was around this late in the night in a deserted area to witness or interfere. No, this was a private matter being dealt with violently. 

Two decades of habits, of behaviors, spurred her into action when she realized that the large bald man in a well tailored suit was not going to stop and most likely would kill the other man. As the smaller man slid down to the ground no longer able to defend himself, she realized with horror, the aggressor’s next move. He begged for help before giving up as it went ignored. Drawing up her magic she made her decision and interfered. As he reached towards the open car door she whispered.

 _“Ossis Effergo!_ ” A blue light left her wand tip streaking across the distance and hitting her opponent directly. The power of her curse slammed into him less than a full blink after she cast it. Striking his upper side at where his arm met his shoulder; shattering half a dozen bones instantly and throwing him off balance.

The start of her battle chain continued flowing by instinct. Launching what was her favorite spell as a teenager; a red light collided with the aggressive bald man and he was promptly knocked unconscious, dropping to the ground- his cry of pain cu off. Following up she cast the disillusionment charm to provide cover and weak safety.

These men were muggles and before anyone else could move to interfere or connect what was happening, she summoned the barely conscious man to her in an effort to save him. He collided with her legs jarringly, and moaned barely conscious. With compassion and a tinge of regret, she silently stunned the injured man, and disapparated on the spot with a loud crack.

 

Now Luna’s parting words were a lot clearer, welcome to Hell’s Kitchen, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Brass monkeys- British slang referring to extremely cold weather.  
> Chunder- British slang meaning “to vomit” or “to be sick”.  
> Dodgy- British slang meaning illegal, wrong, or just “something is off”  
> Hell’s Kitchen-aka Clinton and Midtown in Manhattan. Area covers 34th Street and 57th Street, from 8th Avenue to the Hudson River.  
> Pleione- is a star and a flower. So I thought this name would still fit the Evan’s and Potter naming traditions.
> 
> All my research agrees that February 2nd is the date of Anatoly's death.
> 
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> ******  
> I have not been finding the type of fics I want to read so I decided to write them! I may or may not continue this. Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	2. Chapter 2

This was her element. _Battle._ A part of her missed this. Part of her was scared at how easily she fell back to fighting, into hiding and being on the run.

  
The man was still unconscious and bleeding throughout Manhattan as she apparated them around almost a dozen times. Surmising that he was an old friend of pain, a true survivor, she tried to be as efficient as possible while she covered her tracks and made plans for the next few days. He would make it. _She willed it so_.

A shrill sound interrupted her train of thought, _again_. Without sparing a glance at the advanced muggle device that she toed across the room earlier, she started pacing. Magic still caused electronics to break and even explode at times. Melding muggle and magical means was a handicap. A severe handicap, one she could not afford for long.  Soon, she would have to speak to the Americans about combining lifestyles.  Needing to ensure their safety first, she left him unattended.  

Carefully, on all surfaces of the temporary hotel room, she started carving runes. She cast wards, a few protection spells, and proximity alarms around them.  It wasn’t overly energy consuming, _for her,_ but it took time and attention to detail. With paranoia developed from the war she rechecked her work. Reviewed how everything was layered and interwoven several times, before she was satisfied to begin her next project. Looking at the limp form of her newest responsibility she headed towards him.

 

 

Silently, she thanked Madame Pomfrey for teaching the DA members to be field medics during the war. Casting a diagnostic charm, she felt she was competent enough to deal with his injuries. As serious and permanently damaging they could be, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. In the past she had treated worse both on herself and on others.  The bone shards digging into several organs and internal bleeding was the worst of it. A concussion which could elevate to a brain injury causing permanent damage needed to be watch as well. Abrasions and a broken wrist could be easily fixed and thus addressed last.

Spells were used first to repair what she could immediately and then potion brewing took the rest of her time. Not wanting to overwhelm his system and unsure how magic could impact a muggle, she was careful to treat each issue separately with painstaking slowness. After each step, she waited to see how he reacted to her care. So far she had not seen any ill effects.

A whole day passed and it was well into the night when she felt she could take a break from hovering over the man. The stunning spell had worn off. He had continued to sleep but it never appeared truly restful. She was _knackered_ and with a flick of her wrist, she transfigured a bed out of a table and a few chairs for her to rest.

 

 

When she woke, it was almost dawn and she knew her defenses were holding. Expanding her magical senses she noticed nothing magical or unusual had occured. This was not what she had planned for her new start but Mother Magic or _something_ told her to stay. She knew helping him was what she needed to do. _For Now._

After downing a homemade nutrition and pepper up potion she worked on cleaning him up. He smelled awful. Of blood, alcohol, and cheap cigarettes. Gently, she wiped him down marveling at him. Looking at him without permission seemed almost intimate. He was impressive. Muggles were so much more fascinated with their physical fitness than her people. With his strong patrician features and his lean body, he had the body of a fighter. Compact and built for speed with his skin decorated by scars and bruises. He had learned life’s lessons the hard way. Glancing over his chest she took in the markings.  It was her first experience with inked skin; tattoos were a muggle art after all. Not something she understood but looking at him and his brands she was enthralled and could see the appeal. They were mysteriously personal. What had occurred for him to feel the need to mutilate his skin in such a way, she wondered. Once he was cleaned she used a cutting charm on his hair.  With his hair shorn close to his skull he looked younger and it made his strong jawline stand out more. The intention had been to make the healed bald spot less noticeable. If it bothered him, she could always try a hair growth potion later, she mused.

Once and only once she had considered healing him and then leaving before he awoke. Her magic flared up against that and rejected the idea instantly, with everything in the room shaking.  As he slept his body healed and a _bsorbed her magic_. Inside, her magic swirled dangerously and possessively.  Magic was still something beyond everyone’s understanding. _A Higher Power_. It expressed itself as a baser instinct at times. A part of her yet it still held autonomy. It was in their world to fix things. Tools to better life.

 

 

Time passed, she had been dozing, when the shrill ringing restarted and she snapped. Even after all these years she was still such a Gryffindor. Quickly, she pulled her magic in as deep as she could. Once everything felt muted and off balance, only then, she took out a dark artefact from her moleskin pouch hanging around her neck. Instantly, she felt violently ill and resisted the urge to chunder. Holding the artefact nullified her magic and she could use muggle technology without issues.  

 _12 missed calls_ she read as she picked up the mobile and took a deep breath. _Merlin and Morgana_ there was no going back. A string of foreign words was shouted at her quickly.  They sounded harsh, guttural even, and the male voice on the other end sounded angry. By contrast her response was slow, calm, and she spoke respectfully; without giving anything of herself away.

“um, hello. I am sorry but I did not catch that.” There was silence and then the angry voice spoke loudly.

“Where is my Братик(brother)? How did you get his phone?” The voice spoke with a thick accent and it was clear English was not his first language.

He switched back to his native tongue and rambled on for a bit. There was yelling in the background of the phone call as well.  Pleione did not speak any language aside from the Queen’s English and parsletongue. However, anyone could tell when they were being cursed at vehemently in another language. Unsure how much was the language and how much emotion colored his voice; she had trouble understanding him. _Oh_ , _Bollocks_ she thought as she needed to keep his attention off her.

“Please calm down, sir. I am taking care of him and I think he will be alright. I am not sure if he is your brother but this was the phone I found on him.” The small women heard the voice through the phone inhale deeply and before he could speak she continued, “I saved his life from this large, barmy, bald man-”

“Fisk?” Was shouted through the phone and it was too late for her to save her hearing and she winced. Rubbing her eyes tiredly; she was out of patience.

“I saved this man’s life but he is seriously injured and I am sure we are being pursued. I do not know if you are one of that animal’s men or who you claim to be. He is my priority and my responsibility. The man is resting and when he wakes up I will inform him of this call and give him the mobile. If he chooses to call you that is up to him. Now I must attend him. Goodbye.”  She spoke politely but firmly and turned the device off.

 

Next, using magic, she cleaned up what remained of the man’s belongings and placed them next to him on the night stand. Safeguards and preparations for his awakening needed to be addressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Barmy- British slang for crazy  
> Bollocks- British swear word signifying dismay/shock  
> Knackered- British slang for tired  
> Mobile- British word for cell phone  
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> ******
> 
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	3. Chapter 3

Sensing that he was rousing, Pleione placed the food near him and moved silently but with sure feet back to the kitchenette. It was expected for him to lash out until he felt safe. To him no time had passed and she wanted him to adjust as slowly as possible, without drawing attention to herself until he was better oriented.

Nevertheless, she was prepared to defend herself and beyond that obliviating him was her contingency plan.  She had hoped to limit the violence, if only to spare the energy it would be required to heal him again. Precautions had to be taken.  It wasn’t just his food that was dosed with a calming drought; his clothes, and the surface of most things in the apartment between them was also laced just as a safeguard. There were no identifying items of what hotel they were at and the room’s only windows faced the back of other buildings.  A Peruvian Darkness powder was within reach and the wards had been adjusted to let her out without tearing them to pieces. Everything she needed was with or on her person.

Glancing to either side of her plate, she had his mobile and the local muggle newspaper opened. To appear normal, she had picked up the newspaper earlier, when she had gone down to the lobby and circled the building ensuring that her proximity alarms where functioning. The muggle newspaper mentioned nothing about the fight in the car park that she found and wondered if that was normal, considering the amount of violence being reported in the paper.

She had already read the _Daily Prophet_ and put it away. It seemed that England hadn’t figured out she had left, but her citizens still predicted what events she would show up at or commenting on causes she had endorsed. Thankfully, there had been a large cover piece on the opening of the War Memorial and the Wall of Names. Initially, the Ministry and the public wanted a statue of their chosen one, but she had adamantly refused the idea and instead suggested a public memorial where people could be reminded of how they almost lost everything. She advocated for the Wall of Names; a list of all those that were lost, even Death Eaters, and those from the first war. This way people could go and pay their respects and she hoped it would be a deterrent to any future generations advocating for change through violence. Of course, the article praised her for her work on the post war efforts, which took the focus away from the fact that it was for the people. And that was the perfect example of what was wrong with England.

The war had been over for some time and for the country to continue to rebuild – it couldn’t focus on The Potter Heiress. For history to not repeat itself, as she was not Dumbledore, it was imperative for the healing of Magical Britain to find itself without their savior. Now was the time for every citizen to speak up.  

 

 

A thud drew her attention, pulling her from her thoughts. Without realizing it she had slipped the Elder Wand into her hand as if waiting for an attack. The sound of cursing and vomiting came from the bedroom and she relaxed. He was awake and she heard him pitch himself up. Sensing he was moving toward her, her magic hummed eagerly.

Gasping for breath he took in his surrounding while muttering in his native tongue. Without looking up she knew when he discovered her as every sound caused by him stopped. She could feel his stare on her. The rented room was silent except for their breaths. He stood looking at her, fingers digging into the doorframe trying to orient himself and piece together what he remembered. Pleione knew how she must have looked to him. Short black hair in a pixie cut style, with alabaster skin, and a petite body. She did not look like she belonged in any sort of violent dealings. Except for the curse scar on her head and hand, which were well hidden, it appeared as if she did not belong in his world. Suppressing a snort at that thought, she slowly closed her reading material and raised her glowing emerald eyes to meet his.

 _Grey blue eyes_ reminded her of the sky back home and looking at him, it was like something shifted inside of her and locked into place. It was like listening to the Sorting Hat call out her house all those years ago. She knew then, just as she knew now, that she was home. He was her new path. Inside of her, her magic warmed and unfurled from her core, traveling to every part of her, leaving her with tingles.

 

 

At first he was wild as she predicted, displaying that he was intelligent, resourceful, and had good instincts. Yet, he was also scathingly rude and based upon the tone he used when speaking in his own language he did not hold her or many others in high regards. Her state of mind clashed with her instincts, and she knew that it would be some time until she resolved what was building inside of her.  Still not very patient, Pleione used magic and took control before things got out of hand and informed him about the past few days.

Astonishingly, there was not a need for a calming drought as he readily accepted her explanation. At first she wondered if it was a ploy but he picked up the bruise cream before she even finished describing it. Slathering the cream on his chest, throat, and forehead, he looked at her quietly with a shrewd gaze. Uncomfortable, she had admitted that healing was a passion of hers and could be labeled as a specialty. As the silence stretched on, neither of them moved, merely watching each other with curiosity. Once she tried to introduce herself, he cut her off and called her a ведьма (witch) without hesitation. He repeated the word in English but even with a language barrier she had understood his guess.  When she offered no disagreement on his claim, and proceeded to vanish his vomit, his eyes widened and his body language changed.   

 “Баба Яга (Baba Yaga).” Was whispered, and then he proceeded to prove he had manners; apologizing for his behavior and thanking her for her interference. She learned that he was Russian and called Anatoly Ranskahov; explaining that back in his homeland when he was a young boy, his mama (mother) raised him and his brother of knowledge in the old ways before she passed. Though he was never a true believer like her, he never forgot the myths or legends and always paid his respects.

 

 _Bollocks,_ she thought.

 

She was gobsmacked. Pleione was not a Goddess and it would be rude to emulate one, but he was convinced she was Baba Yaga or at least a version of her.  Especially based on how they met and regardless of what she said otherwise. While he was being brutally attacked he admitted that he begged, fully aware that Fisk would have murdered him and probably gone after his brother next. Grey blue eyes darted around the room as he confessed, that he prayed while he was dying. He prayed for help; for his brother too. Suddenly, she was there at the right time; saving him. Чудо (A miracle) he claimed.

Trying to retain control over the situation and herself, she offered to check his wounds while he spoke. She was careful to not touch him but remained close, giving him a chance to harm her if he wished. He did not capitalize on her supposed vulnerability. Instead he was quiet, compliant, and let her work. But not once, did he take his eyes off her. The intensity of his stare was almost unnerving and she ignored how her magic calmed and swirled contentedly the moment she started working on him.

It was as she was finishing up that he began to speak freely. Softly, almost ashamedly, he admitted that throughout his life he witnessed unexplained occurrences which he always tried to rationalize. However, since coming to America he could no longer ignore what was being revealed to him. At those words, her magic stilled, and following her instincts she ordered him, which was quite rude, to explain his statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******  
> Baba Yaga- Per Russian and Slavic folklore she is a supernatural being. There are many tales of her. Translated directly it means “old woman.” In some translations/tales she is a goddess. She can be young and beautiful but is usually old and deformed and is always a powerful wielder of magic. She can aide or curse those who stumble upon her. She lives in the woods in a very unique hut and most approach her for healing or to make “deals”.
> 
> Gobsmacked- British Slang for being shocked beyond belief. 
> 
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> ******  
> Thank you for reading and for all of your love. I was really nervous about posting as this is my first fic. Thank you for your support and taking the time to reach out to me! Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	4. Chapter 4

_Aliens, enhanced humans, and superheroes. No wonder the America’s had a lax Statue of Secrecy._ Though that was a national concern Pleione’s instincts knew there was a more local threat. Anatoly spoke of a Madam Gao and overhearing about K’un-Lun. Along with a Nobu and his regenerative abilities that he himself had noticed. The names were of no interest to her, but what they were associated with seemed familiar and worth researching. Especially if magical beings were mixing with muggles. She inquired if the bald man, Fisk she learned, was also of the supernatural or mystical world. When his answer was only a mere shrug and a frown, she started pacing unable to contain her agitation.

Like a Gryffindor she had charged in and could have just caused an international incident. The Americans did not believe in _The One Who Lived_ as much as magical Europe and she doubted she could use her hated fame to her advantage. Wincing at the realization that Kinglsey would not be pleased with her she knew she had to settle things immediately. Part of her mind started to plan the tracking of Fisk and how best to obliviate him. Followed by the others that were there that night.

 

 

Anatoly pulled her back from her self-assigned mission and brought attention to himself. There was a language and cultural barrier but even he understood that she was worried and it made him concerned. Despite the problems she created she had no regrets. Anatoly deserved to be saved and she could see how her appearance at such a critical time enthralled him. His voice was soft but firm and it had never crossed the Russian’s mind that they could be working with and against people with abilities. Obviously concerned, he crossed the room in strong sure strides towards her. Reading his movement, she knew he was going to reach out to her and she reacted.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the plate of food. Remembering what her priority was she levitated the plate over to him, motioning him to sit down. It was a small test, a quick sudden burst of magic, but he did not react negatively, merely pausing in his actions to watch her for a few breaths. Trying to resist the pull to him, she also summoned a nutrition potion in front of his plate.  

Without hesitation, he downed the contents in the vial and her magic grew warm and hummed approvingly. She enjoyed how he looked at her, and a private part of her was touched that he thought so highly of her to confuse her with Baba Yaga. Trying to rationalize it, maybe that was what the muggle Russians thought of their mysterious magical community. Anyone magical seen by muggles was explained as being a part of their folklore. A reasonable possibility. 

 

 

Anatoly had been open and honest with her, largely due to manipulation which caused her to feel guilty. At the very least she felt that she could provide selected information in return. She explained that she had hit Fisk with a bone breaking spell and expected him to be near death and in need of a hospital for such an aggressive hit. If there was a chance that Fisk belonged in her world and had allies, all of whom, she knew nothing about, then they needed to regroup and prepare for a retaliation.

When she tried to get him to call her by her name he appeared scandalized and had a physical visceral reaction. Angrily he paced, often slipping into his native tongue, before explaining brokenly, that he would not be so rude. She was informed that to be so far from home and to be saved by his beloved land was overwhelming. That he could not even translate his feelings on the subject. Swearing that he would not dishonor her after she saved him, he placed his hand on his heart and bowed his head. The wording was close to a magical vow and her magic _hungered_ for such a bond

Even when she used their safety as her main point, he would not capitulate, uncaring if it drew attention to them. It was as if he was offended on her behalf, incensed that she wanted to appear less than she was. Before she could respond or even blink, he had stood up and moved into her space.

Pleione was unsure what to say and merely swallowed her words, staring at his bare chest, unable to meet his eyes. Tracking his markings with her eyes and noticing that he had a dusting of light brown hair on his chest. They shared the same air, their breaths, mingling. She could feel him gazing down at her intently and he called her Baba Yaga, again, but this time with reverence.

 

 

She was too close to losing control of her magic. Usually they operated on symbiotic relationship but now her magic was being too autonomous and she feared what would happen if they touched again. There was still no way of knowing how his system would react to magic in general, as well as her own magic.

Barely keeping it together, she could not fight herself as well as him. It appeared that even on a deeper level than he could comprehend he was equally drawn to her. They were constantly being pulled together as soon as one stepped away. _A side effect of healing him? A reaction to my magic?_ She mused and in a very unlike Gryffindor fashion she drew his attention away and mentioned the phone call. Until she could trust both parts of herself, the least she could do was protect him, even if it was from herself.  

As she soon as she mentioned the phone call his demeanor changed and he stopped trying to follow her and back her into a corner. It was another piece of evidence that he was being equally affected. Sobering up, he took the phone and soon after a very loud conversation in Russian took place.

Finding out the specifics on the very lax Statue of Secrecy due to aliens and enhanced humans was important. _The devil is in the_ details as Hermione always said.  Fisk was a priority and part of a larger goal which included what Anatoly mentioned earlier. The mystical land of K’un Lun was shrouded in mystery and she knew that Unspeakables were always working on projects regarding that mythical land. Anyone associated with that land was dangerous.  She had to start with locating and using a translation spell. Both to communicate in Russian but to read through the old documents. Most of her thought came from a selfish desire but the part of her that had been _burned, tortured,_ and carved away from the war rationalized, that having any information lost in translation was dangerous.

 _Breathe. Focus._ She spoke to herself, pushing away the thoughts on the war. Needing to center herself she turned focus to her latest distraction. 

Tilting her head towards the bedroom she heard Anatoly pacing while he spoke on the phone. Hearing him speak in his native tongue was calming. The intonations and volume changes was like listening to music. Internally, her magic danced to his voice, often stilling when he was quiet, waiting for him to speak again. Taking a few deep breaths, and feeling calmer, she decided to utilize the spare time she had. With a fond pat, she unshrunk and unlocked the secure and illegally modified trunk.  Much of the Black library was within a section of her expanded trunk and there was a strong possibility a translation book existed there. Emptying the supplies on other shelves, she dug deeper and pulled up the shelf of the library.

 

 

Barely starting her task, Anatoly returned to the small sitting area to see her sitting cross-legged completely encircled by parchment, scrolls, and books.  Opening her mouth, she went to ask him about their next step when she caught him staring but not at her for once. Following his gaze, she looked to her trunk.

“That is your hut, yes?” He asked turning back to look at her. With a small smile, she let out a huff and nodded.

“You could say that.” Was her quick response.

“Where are your dogs?” The second question threw her off, and she had to review what she remembered from the folklore and it took a moment before she understood his question. Ever since the importance of the Tales of the Three Brothers she used what free time she had to read other prominent magical children’s books and myths. Originally the task started out as necessity, but it became peaceful and it was like giving her a part of a normal childhood. Albeit a tad late, and she had enjoyed her research, moving on to the history and legends of other magical cultures. Baba Yaga usually had 3 dogs to assist her. His question had given her an idea on how to move and get him to a safe location.

“You will see.” She replied softly while turning her gaze to the table she had transfigured before. When she glanced back to him she noticed that he was pulling on the rest of his clothes.  Maybe she would not be so distracted with him fully dressed.

 “Time to go?”

“Da (Yes.)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> ***  
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is up a few hours ealier than usual, as I have plans most of the weekend, but did not want to disappoint my readers. I hope you enjoy it.

The quiet was starting to get to her. When she was younger the quiet equated with being ignored. Sometimes that was a good thing, especially when it involved the Dursely’s. Or worse, as she waited for the latest emotional explosion of her Uncle, or the manipulative behavior of her cousin.  Most times being ignored meant she was alone and that no one cared. She suffered in silence both in her youth and as she grew at Hogwarts. Under scrutiny and silent judgement as she walked by. During the war, the quiet became dangerous as it was when her thoughts and feelings would overwhelm her.  

Now it was quiet and she was again the center of attention. Anatoly’s stare was unflinchingly heavy as he watched her toss around color changing charms on their clothes.  Even when she transfigured the table into a dog he stoically watched her.  With her heart in her throat, she sadly allowed the more domesticated image of Padfoot to lick her hand before steeling herself, and transfiguring the pillow into a collar and a leash.

Until she returned him to his brother, Anatoly was not safe. Using public transportation was risky and she would prefer to not have her movements restricted. She was safest when relying only on herself and her power. Hiding in plain sight, a lesson learned when the war broke out was the safest course of action. The wards were triggered to breakdown slowly, releasing tendrils of magic. If they were being pursued magically it would cover their tracks and buy time.

Anatoly’s phone conversation was short, and he stated with a small shrug that he did not want to give details over the line; unsure if his phone was being monitored. Everything would be explained upon their reunion and his brother had no idea who or what she was. The most emotion she had seen out of him, besides speaking of his homeland was when he spoke of his brother and re-uniting with him. She was determined to see him safely back to his brother’s side.

 

 

It was clear to Pleione that Anatoly was a man of few words, and it bothered her. Made her anxious. Hermione was always rambling on and even Ron nervously spouted information often enough. None of them were good with silence, except Neville, but as her magic draped over them she could tell that Anatoly held no malice or trickery towards her. It was an area of growth that still required some improvement and she tried to focus on the heartbeat and soul of the city. Rather than letting her anxiety get to her.

Together they let Padfoot slowly lumber down the street and as blocks passed, she tried to ease into a comfortable silence with him. She returned his attention and from watching him it was clear that Anatoly was a dog person, often indulging Padfoot in pets or scratches. It was a simple joy to him, but she was pleased, as it lessened the darkness of the past few days. The silence caught up to her and she eventually broke. He caught her marveling at the busy city, and she had gushed,

“It has been many years since I was among non-magical beings. You mortals are so fascinating and ingenious.” For that he had no response other than the spark of curiosity that returned in his eyes. Despite her intent, she continued to draw his attention to her. Even when he wasn’t looking she knew he was focused on her.

As they walked she trailed her fingers over as many surfaces as she could and intermittently sent a spark of her magic out, allowing her to sense her environment on a deeper level.  Even to this day she was barely adequate at Legelimency. Still it allowed her to do a basic scan on the people around them for any ill intent. It wasn’t thorough but hopefully it would have picked up on something and alerted her. 

Her magic pulsed like a heartbeat. New York, was new and fresh, and she could not sense any black magic anywhere. There was no taint, and it was like breathing in the air after a rainstorm.  Still there was no contact with any magic other than her own. It was too tempting to let her magic out and tendrils sneaked out. Like a small child, her magic wanted to touch everything. When people around her began to complain about cell service and their electronics cutting out, it was with a sigh that she reigned her energy in. Anatoly picked up that she had done something, but remained silent.  Together they walked on and everyone overlooked them, ignoring a young couple out walking their dog.

 

 

When they parted ways, Anatoly was not happy, and her magic drooped in response. However, Pleione would not budge, and waited at the top of the block with her fake dog while he walked into the garage that he said he and his brother owned.  Anatoly had been firm about wanting her presence but he did not demand it. In the end, he had gone to reunite with his beloved sibling privately and she would be introduced afterwards.

Slowly he had walked backwards as if afraid she would disappear if he let her out of his sight. In an expression that was all McGonagall she raised her eyebrow at him, clearly implying that there was nothing he could do to stop her. He never said anything but the side of his face twitched as he sniffed, before he nodded and left.  To pass the time, she pretended to give the dog water and search through her pockets as if looking for something.

She was overlooked by the public as time passed. Just as she was relaxing it all went to pot. Out of the corner of her eye she watched a vehicle head towards where Anatoly went. It was an exact replica of the motor cars she saw in the car park when she met Anatoly the first time.  Her magic grew heavy and sunk deep within her body. It could not be a coincidence. _My luck never fails_ she thought sarcastically as she registered the change in her magic.

She couldn’t apparate to a place she had never seen without an official apparition point. Though an unsupported flight spell would be faster it was more noticeable since it was daytime. Trusting her magic, she abandoned her post.  Before her other foot could hit the pavement, she had cast a silencing spell and a disillusionment charm simultaneously and was off running.  There was no need to cast a _Point Me_ spell as her magic already streaked outward searching for her mortal.  She charged into the underground and dodged workers. Up the stairs she went, casting magic to buy time. Shelves fell and items tumbled all over the place.

No one she was near appeared magical and she could easily subdue any who threatened Anatoly. The elder wand pulsed in her hand. Tempting her to use it; tainting her mind to draw on the darker parts of herself. Magic directed her through the building before stopping ahead of her. Without a second thought and completely ignoring the men standing on either side of the door she needed, she casted, extending her magic out at the door, and threw herself into the room. Judging by the reaction of the wood, the door had not been locked and it swung shut as it bounced off the wall.

With a wave of her hand she dropped the spells and made herself known to the two figures in the upscale room. As soon as Anatoly registered that it was her, she started speaking, right over the shouting of the other man. 

“We have to get you out of here. Now. They are here. The men from the other night.”  The other man was still speaking in Russian and placed himself in front of Anatoly, but she remained focused on the one she had rescued.  

 “I stay. My brother will pretend I am missing. He has not heard from me.” The man was close, in the hallway leaving few choices. It wasn’t her choice to make so her mind moved to other options that could accommodate his wish.

“I can hide us here until he leaves.”

 As soon as Anatoly finished nodding she reached out and he mimicked her, moving around his brother to her. Trusting her. As she latched onto his arm she cloaked them in a disillusionment charm.

Vladimir was physically startled and exclaimed wildly in his native tongue. For reassurance, she softly muttered about the spells she used so the Russians could both hear her. Carefully she maneuvered them behind the desk and to the large window. Anatoly and his brother exchanged a few sentences in their native tongue and she knew she heard _Baba Yaga_ among their words. _Bollocks,_ she thought. For extra security, she cast a silencing charm and Vladimir placed himself behind the desk, just as the door opened and a slender man in a suit walked in smiling softly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> All to Pot- British saying that means that situation has gone out of your control
> 
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> ******  
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I am adding another chapter this week! I know we have not seen a lot of action recently in the fic, so I hope this will make up for it. Please note that this fic remains unbeta'ed.

Safety was their priority. Thankfully, her magic agreed and was calm even though she was standing in front of Anatoly pressed tightly against his chest. She could feel the heat emanating off him with only their clothes as a thin barrier. It was highly inappropriate and she treasured her personal space, usually but there was no denying that she was enjoying their closeness. One hand was placed over his chest, with her magic flowing through her and into him, maintaining their hidden cover. Her other hand held the Elder Wand out. During the war, she learned to be able to duel with either hand and she was prepared to use that learned advantage now.

There was just less than half a foot between their height, made more noticeable by their closeness. His breath would puff out and move her hair, his mouth close to her temple. Intentionally or subconsciously she was not sure, but she felt it when his hand came up to rest on her waist, holding her steady and against him. His hands were large, and his left hand spaced across her ribs easily.  The hand she had placed on his chest helped steady her as she could feel his calm heartbeat. Their closeness though was muted in the face of danger.

With the hint of a threat her attention was not on their sudden contact. Instinct ruled and she was waiting for an attack, ready to defend him and his brother. Both of their attention was focused on the younger Russian.

 

 

Subdued, Vladimir played his role well. A concerned brother not overly focused on business; he deflected questions and made plans for their business associates to meet up soon. It may have been wrong, but Pleione got the impression that their business or dealings were not entirely legal. There was tension and what appeared to be animosity over a long time, between the business partners. However, there was no overt aggression signaling that the Russians knew they had been betrayed. The visitor implied that their side parted with Anatoly on good terms, and Pleione hungrily watched Vladimir. Her magic had her hackles raised, so to speak in response to the lying newcomer. Her initial guess had been correct, that man was involved the night she came to New York.

Anatoly was completely still and breathing calmly. If the younger sibling attacked or threatened, then so would she. Instead Vladimir remained seated glancing at his mobile phone occasionally during their talk.  “We are never apart for long.” Was his double meaning parting comment to the man in the suit. In response, the man merely inclined his head and was escorted out.

An older man with dark hair entered the room closing the door after the visitor and stood awaiting orders. He was injured with a cast on his right hand and a multitude of bruises that she could see, yet he still held himself with quiet confidence. Since Vladimir did not acknowledge him and turned towards their general direction, she guessed it was someone they trusted. With precision, she pulled her magic in cancelling the spells and stepped away from Anatoly, revealing them to the other occupants on the room. His hand remained slightly outstretched in the air from where he had just held her.

The other men were startled but Vladimir started striding towards his brother with his long legs. The newcomer however, was shocked and exclaimed loudly in Russian. He drew her attention and she noticed that his finger pointed at her and he was visibly shaken. Thankfully he did not hold a weapon. As her magic, would have reacted violently to such a threat.   

It was the reaction she had expected from most muggles. She could see the fear and awe in his face. She sighed and reminded herself this was why magical begins kept their existence secret.

“Baba Yaga?” He called out and then proceeded to bow to her, several times. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anatoly nodding slightly in agreement. The injured man repeated the word and then spoke quickly in Russian, that even if she had a translation spell to use she would not have caught what he said. His eyes switched back to the brothers and to her several times. She caught him knocking on the wooden desk three times and looked at her, as if waiting for her response. Pleione fought the urge to roll her eyes and caught Vladimir in mid eye roll. Not wanting to let Anatoly explain and have things get out of hand, she took charge.

“It’s Pleione actually. Named after an aspect of the Earth and the Heavens.” She introduced herself to the room, and then focused her attention on Vladimir and addressed him. “Hello Sir. We spoke on the mobile earlier, and as you can see I took care of your brother to the best of my abilities and returned him to your care.” Emphasizing her statement with a wave of her hand, before offering hers out in front to shake his. He did not reciprocate. Instead he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder and just stared at her. She wouldn’t call his gaze unkind but it was with an intense wariness that he watched her. She did not blame him, and the Golden Trio still to this day closed ranks when danger was present.

 

 

The Ranskahovs appeared as close as the Weasley Twins and a force to be reckoned with. Truly, she had no desire to cause issues between them. Slowly and as non-threatening as possible she turned her back on the brothers, where Anatoly was speaking softly to Vladimir. Sending a blinding smile to the latecomer in the room she approached the injured man.

“дворянка, my lady, I am Sergei.” He spoke in very clear English with barely an accent. Before she could respond further Vladimir began speaking, demanding the attention of the room. Then he proceeded to state that he and his brother still had much to discuss but he asked, or more like ordered, for her to stay as it would not be long.  The younger brother spoke harshly but was not rude to her it just seemed to be a part of his personality. However, she also got the impression he was testing boundaries with her and asserting dominance.   

Polite as he had been with her, Anatoly thanked her for her recent magic use and voiced his agreement with his brother’s plan. For the time being, he re-iterated that he would like her to stay and he would value her input after he spoke to his brother. Appearing torn that his attention would have to be split he conferred with his brother briefly, before directing his attention to Sergei.  

Anatoly practically ordered Sergei to accompany her and make sure she was comfortable until their conversation was finished. Vladimir was silent and watched the exchange curiously, but nodded none the less. Despite any difference of feelings on the issue, or her, the brothers presented a united front.  She caught Baba Yaga and my lady several times throughout the exchange and despite the language barrier the warning tone that accompanied it was clear. Sergei calmly accepted the orders and nodded agreeably before he bowed to her again. Opening the door for her, he waited. 

 

Anatoly closed the distance between them and he held her eyes with his own. They were close, standing comfortably in each other’s presence. Softly, he whispered that Sergei was a true believer and she would be safe and well respected while she waited. She thought the wording on that statement from him odd but did not comment and filed it away for later.  He encouraged her to rest for all the work and energy she had performed due to him.  “I admit that I am new to the area and I do not want to cross into another’s territory. I have plenty of research to keep me company on the others of my kind that could be nearby, as well as what we spoke about earlier.”  Pleione countered as vaguely as possible as she thought things through. She was rested well enough and there was work to be done.  

Sniffing slightly, his face twitched on one side, an expression that she now equated to displeasure or uncertainty. He lingered in her close company a few moments. She felt that she should say something else, but unsure what and her magic was silent and unhelpful, now. It was quiet as if it was holding its breath, waiting. The decision was swiftly made for her. Anatoly relented with a slow blink and an incline of his head. Tilting his head forward he spoke farewell.

“Baba Yaga.” Anatoly whispered in an emotionally laced voice, as grey blue eyes that reminded her of the sky back home, stared at her with a strong gaze.

“Take your time, I will wait.” She muttered and then swallowed. As a goodbye, she continued, “Anatoly. Vladimir.” Each name accompanied by a respectful nod before she turned and headed out the room.

“So are you going to give me a tour?” What she did not see was Anatoly shaking his head negatively in answer to her question, but Sergei caught it.

“I will show you a place to relax while you wait.”  Sergei spoke softly and demonstrated with his good hand to follow him. She breezed past the two startled men, standing by the door and left the Ranskahovs alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially, we are past the halfway mark of the fic! However, I seem to keep adding to it. I love expanding on their characters and their interactions with each other. Almost all of this fic is written out already. I intend to post again this weekend. Hope you enjoyed this surprise!. 
> 
> If you did not notice, I adjusted the title, as I am making this into a series. The next installment will not be PleioneXAnatoly, and will be solely focused on the Daredevil world. I already know my next soulmated couple and have written a few chapters! 
> 
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.


	7. Chapter 7

Apart from the office she had left earlier, clearly the compound was inhabited mostly by men. The evidence was by lack of decorations or personal touches, except for the female swimsuit calendars or posters. The place was dull; sparsely furnished, and everything had a purpose. It was in desperate need of a thorough clean. Dust, smoke, and the scent of take out foot permeated the air.

Pleione suspected she was escorted to one of the nicer rooms with windows and a couch. It was still juxtaposed to the sleek modern styled office she had just been in. There was a card game going on when she entered. Another reason Pleione knew she had to be the only female about, was because of everyone’s reaction. Any activity nearby froze to watch her and Sergei walk by. The stares weighed on her but it wasn’t anything new to the Potter Heiress. When Sergei addressed her respectfully it drew second looks from those around them. Another thing she thought was odd. In the room, the men playing cards had stood up carefully surrounded by empty bottles on the floor. Silently they watched her almost nervously, she suspected, looking to Sergei for answers and then they soon exited.

Word had gotten around, because soon every few minutes the door had opened and a man came in with some poorly veiled excuse to be in the room to end up staring at her and talking to Sergei. Probably discussing her. On occasion a man would exit only to come back with others. She jokingly wondered if these grown men had been trained in gossiping from Lavender Brown. Their staring would continue. No one approached her so Pleione ignored it and gazed out the window.  Though she needed to get to work, she hesitated. Showing Anatoly her trunk or wielding magic defensibly in front of Vladimir was one thing, but she was hesitant to expose so much of her rightful world. Not wanting to be rude, she did not ask Sergei to clear the room. And so, she pondered her predicament.

 

 

Within a short time, a man burst into the room excitedly chattering in Russian. She heard Sergei’s voice and turned to face the commotion. She updated her assessment, the man was only a boy, probably the age Colin would have been had he lived, and as soon as he noticed her eyes on him, he greeted her.

“Babushka.”  He spoke but before he could continue he was smacked over the head by Sergei and reprimanded. Based upon his non-verbal cues she could tell exactly when she wasn’t just a woman, but Baba Yaga to them. The other men in the room had frozen and awaited her reaction.

The youngster apologized with eyes downcast and withdrew seven flowers from his bag. She glanced down at the squished and lightly wilted flowers offered to her before she let a genuine smile grace her face. She had never gotten flowers before and she was touched by the gesture.  Her magic detected everyone releasing a tense breath. With exuberance, the boy welcomed her an even offered her food, stating he had been tasked with running errands, and went out immediately once he heard Baba Yaga had deemed them worthy to be in their company. He appeared quite proud of himself and that he thought of her needs.

Graciously, she accepted his offer and Sergei rushed forward to offer her a spot at the table. When she went to sit down, he moved her chair before gesturing her to sit in it. She blinked, unsure of what had happened but thanked him nonetheless and turned her attention to the friendly boy. Pleione refused to continue to be starred at, while eating no less, and offered the boy, Sergei and any others to join her.  Only after some hesitation and approval from Sergei did they. The boy, Dmitry, she learned was Sergei’s nephew and trying to learn the family business.

“Which is what exactly?” She asked as she was instructed to pick from the food offerings first.  Carefully, she held her treasured flowers in one hand, while she read the take-out containers.  Every man stilled and there was awkward silence for almost a minute. Dmitry appeared so distressed and helplessly looked at his Uncle for direction. Instead, Sergei politely offered to have a beverage fetched for her and water for her flowers.

Not sensing anything malicious and without having Anatoly there for direction, she did not want to be rude and did not push the issue. Simply, she picked something to eat, thanking her hosts. Soon enough her flowers put in an, and here she did a double glance, an empty vodka bottle. They were placed at an open seat at the table for the three of them as no one else joined them. She thought a moment before finding what she hoped was a safer topic to broach.

 “I do not want to be rude, but may I ask what happened to your face, Dmitry? And your arm Sergei?” Once she finished eating she asked. The boy was sweet, a bit over enthused, but clearly wanted to prove his worth to his elders. The youth flushed under her questioned and reported that he sadly tried to help when they had been attacked the other night.

“Was that the same night Anatoly was hurt and I met him?” At once she realized her mistake. _Oh, bullocks,_ she thought. Their boss had been missing to their knowledge, and they had seen him walking, and appeared fine only a short time ago. They had no knowledge of his injuries or almost death. “I apologize, I have spoken out of turn. That was none of my business, and I should not be sharing secrets or asking about them.”

As a part of her apology she offered the bruise cream she had in her pocket to Dmitry and trying to lighten the mood, she stated it would work like magic. It fell flat, like most of her jokes. Pleione never had much of a sense of humor. Trying another option, she offered to look at Sergei’s hand to see if there was anything she could do for him. Sergei had stayed close to her since she left Anatoly and it was easy to see his hand pained him.

They both acquiesced eventually, though it appeared as if they did not want to be rude to her, rather than have any interest in their health. She wished she knew what Anatoly had said to him about her for how compliant and deferential they were all being. As if it was any other student she had helped heal, she appeared non-threatening and let her genuine desire to do good appeal to them.

“My lady, you want deal?”  _So Slytherin_ , she thought. They never did anything for free, and she learned how to deal with those that had a similar mentality.

“Well, Dmitry brought me flowers. I would say that is more than a kind gesture. I would be happy to look at your injuries in response to his actions. We can discuss as more information presents itself.” Vague and open to interpretation, she directed her response to the interested men who had encircled the table.  Like with Anatoly, she tried to not give any further information away on her or her world. She never admitted or denied her identity or the one placed upon her by them.  A part of her wondered if that was a good or bad idea.

 

 

Trusting her, Dmitry, grabbed the bruise cream and put it on his face and under his shirt. When nothing unpleasant occurred then others were more open to her. They began to speak to her and relax in her presence.

Though she wasn’t fully aware of America’s rules she imagined they would not be pleased with her actions. It was not her intent to flaunt their Statue of Secrecy but she was never one for rules anyway. War was not done in half measures. She needed to commit herself. She had already decided when she rescued him, but now it was time to show it.

The attack on Anatoly sent an obvious message. It was an attack on him, his brother, and his workers. She knew the battle had started but it was far from over. Without knowing more of her enemy, but aware they commanded men, it was obvious that the men in front of her needed to be healthy for what was to come.

As removed from muggle society as she was even Pleione knew that muggles were fascinated by mysticism and there was a whole new age movement. A return to old ways and belief in home remedies was popular alongside the power of the professional medical world.  Provisioned with her trunk of potions and wandless magic, most of what she could do, could be explained in a natural muggle way. Well, that was her way of rationalizing it.

With the evidence of Dmitry’s face clearing up it only furthered their belief that she was Baba Yaga. The bruise cream was passed around the room until it was completely used and she had to get more. Her work became common knowledge and many came into the room to watch or to propose a deal. There were aspects of her stay in Hell’s Kitchen and dealing with Fisk that needed her attention but treating the men in front of her, she felt, was also an important task. Magic was gifted to the world to help. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> Babushka- Russians can be very informal and address other’s in their culture on friendly often as family. Ex an older woman may be referred to as aunt or auntie. Babushka means grandmother and it is the affectionate diminutive form of Baba Yaga’s name. 
> 
> While doing research on the Russian language and culture, I ran across several sources stating that over half of the Russian population is superstitious. While re-watching all scenes in Daredevil I agreed that aspect of culture would fit what we see in the show and therefore tried to incorporate it in my fic with a few times.  
> Flowers- are supposed to be odd numbers for positive things and even numbers only for funerals.  
> The empty bottles- to avoid bad luck, empty bottles are placed on the floor once consumed.  
> Corner spots at a table- It is bad luck to sit a corner spot if you are unmarried. Especially if you are a woman.
> 
> *****
> 
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Per the report from her wandless diagnostic charm, Sergei’s hand was a serious concern. Cradling his arm slowly in her lap she assessed him. It was another piece proving that the Russians were doing dangerous and probably illegal business. His injury was not an accident and it had been done deliberately. The bones were shattered so even with muggle intervention; his hand would never be the same. No instrument could have impacted the hand without damaging the rest of the arm. No, only another person fighting him could have done this. It was brutality with pinpoint precision.

“It’s bad. I could fix it, so it was as if it never happened but I would have to use unpleasant methods.” She spoke honestly, meeting his eyes, as she knew only her magic entering his system and some potions could fix the damage.

“What is your advice, my lady?” His asked softly, his voice respectful.

“Your hand, it will never be the same unless I treat it. I would use my magic to vanish, or remove the bones and then regrow the bones with a potion. This is painful and I would not suggest this while you are awake.” Everyone’s attention was on her, but she ignored them. Even Dmitry who was repeating her words in the background went unnoticed.

“I want to be of use.” Was his quiet but firm reply, which was cut off by a “дядя (uncle) you are important. Very important. You are of use.” An exchange in Russian took place before he turned back to her and expressed his interest in having his hand healed, but he wanted to know what his orders would be first and if they had time for him to rest and have his arm treated. Pleione nodded in understanding.

Pleione hated to see others suffer especially when there was something she could do. Her hero complex, as Hermione called it and she felt confident in her abilities to not give too much of herself away but still able to help Anatoly and Vladimir’s people. Genuinely, she wanted to make a difference as they had been respectful and welcoming, but a traitorous thought rose to the front of her mind. A part of her hoped this would endear her to Anatoly and make him happy. Coincidently she also wanted to make a better impression on Vladimir.

“What deal to heal me.” A man whom she had not been previously introduced asked.

She smiled.

_“Episkey.”_ She muttered softly while she wrapped her magic around the man’s broken nose with the intent to right it. A quick pop and a flinch later he was done. Stepping back, she dropped her hands to her side and motioned for the next man to approach. He was wincing and grabbing at his tattooed side, his shirt in his hand. She was fascinated by the tattoos she saw on Anatoly but she had now seen tattoos on every Russian man she met. The inked marks were clearly visible and worn proudly. She noticed that not everyone had the same tattoos and most of what she had seen on Anatoly was unique. A part of her wondered if America found a way for magicals to have tattoos. The applications possibly with runes would be interesting and worth researching.  

Focusing, she shook those thoughts away and centered herself. As she placed her palm on what was clearly broken ribs underneath mark skin, her magic tingled and she shivered. Ignoring her current patient, she turned her senses towards the door and waited. Sergei who was never far from her, noticed her abrupt motion and mimicked her. A breath later, the door opened and the frame was filled with Anatoly and Vladimir. The atmosphere changed immediately as their eyes swept over the room. Everyone froze but Pleione, who turned more towards Anatoly, and the man she was about to heal threw himself back and away from her, sending himself tumbling into the couch.

 

“I thought you would send for Baba Yaga and I when needed.” Sergei called out as he approached the brothers with confusion coloring his voice. She knew he spoke in English for her benefit.

“Clearly, it was better we did not.” Vladimir called out in his rough voice before slipping into his native tongue. Judging by how the men jumped to his voice he was barking orders. With Anatoly’ short hair, the brothers looked more alike than ever standing next to each other. With hard eyes, and lines of exhaustion etched into his face, Anatoly came over and she let him place his hand on the small of her back leading her to stand between him and his brother near the door.

“Are you feeling alright?” She moved into his slight embrace and softly whispered her question not wanting others to hear her. A sharp nod was all she was given and his eyes swept over her as if he was reassuring himself she was alright. Her magic offered no additional information other than its happiness at being reunited with Anatoly. Unsure how to proceed she spoke what first came to her mind.

“Oh. Did you eat? I made sure to save you both something, just in case.”  Pleione made to turn and motioned at the table when Anatoly’s hand came up to grasp hers almost hesitatingly, causing her stop and remain at his side. Both of his hands enclosed hers and his thumb rubbed along her skin.  Not used to physical contact she could feel her cheeks growing warmer and knew she was blushing and it drew her gaze to their joined hands.  This was the first conscious skin on skin contact they had. He initiated it and her magic fluttered just underneath her skin.   

“I am fine.” Anatoly stated, pulling her eyes to him. She couldn’t breathe right. Her magic spilled out. It was warm, too thick, and draped over them. He continued speaking softly in Russian. She blinked, trying to clear her head, at the intoxicating feel of him, her and her magic. She eased her head back but they remained close.

“What?” she queried hoarsely. Then she heard a snort off to the side and Vladimir spoke,

“You do not speak Russian. How can you be Baba Yaga?”  His words were laced with derision. That drew her attention and centered her.

“Hey! Over seven billion people live on this planet. Only about 250 million people speak Russian. And languages change and evolve over time. Even generation by generation. While English is one of the most spoken languages in the World. If only America would stop butchering my tongue.  Besides I’ll be able to acclimate soon, I have resources at my disposal. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Are you well?” Anatoly asked, drawing her attention back to him. Meanwhile Vladimir ordered his men off, presumably back to work as they filed out of the room with a respectful incline of their head or a parting call to her. Dmitry left with a friendly wave. Vladimir ignored them and went over to the food and grabbed the leftovers she saved.

“I am well. Better now that you are here. I might have let some things slip to your workers.” She answered honestly. “How are you feeling? I still have some doses and treatments for you.” His cheeks stretched back a bit, and she realized after a moment that he was giving her a small grin. That drew a smile of her own and she opened her mouth to speak when Vladimir interrupted. It drew Anatoly’s attention and her own. She realized he had asked about her flowers.

“Oh. Those are mine. They were a gift.”

“From who?” Vladimir asked while he poked at the glass bottle her flowers were in with a plastic fork.

“Dmitry.”

“Who?” he asked again with drawn eyebrows as he stared suspiciously at the innocent decoration as if it were an Acromantula or an exploding Weasley product.  

“Dmitry.” Still no response. Utter silence for a few moments before she continued. “Uh, Sergei’s nephew, right?” His face was blank with no recollection as he looked at her from across the room.

“You can’t be serious?” she called closing the distance between them and snatched her gift off the table away from him. She watched his face turn, and the mischievous grin that flashed across his face. Behind him the sun was setting and with the light spilling over him, he looked like a troublesome devil, she thought.

“He gave her flowers. Do you see that my brother?” He called to Anatoly while he grabbed extra food, most likely for his older brother. She blushed. Oh, yes, a troublesome little devil, she thought. At first Vladimir appeared more like an outspoken emotional Gryffindor, but he also just displayed some cunning Slytherin lines.

“Come.” He motioned and exited the room first, Anatoly waited until she returned next to him and fell into step beside her. She glanced up at him, but he was staring ahead with an unreadable expression on his face. His recently healed hand settling on her lower back as he escorted her out. She found that she enjoyed their closeness and yearned to remain that way. In complete agreement, her magic swirled contentedly about at their reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.
> 
> According to my research about only 250 million people speak Russian. So compared to the billions of people that speak Mandarin, Spanish and English, I thought it would be a plausable way for "Baba Yaga" to not speak Russian. On top of the the fact she was apart of the Folklore, and you could only imagine how the Russian Language evolved since then. 
> 
> Question- Do you want the beginning of the next installment to this Series now or wait until this fic is completely wrapped up first? Reader's choice! Let me know.
> 
> ******  
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than most but I did not want to break it up or take anything away. Hope that is alright and enjoy!

“What were you doing while you waited for me.” Anatoly asked as he walked her back to the office she had entered originally.

“I was healing your men.” She stated while glancing at her flowers. “I am fine. It did not require too much energy. However, Sergei’s hand needs to be looked at. A monster attacked him.” She let him take her flowers and he placed them on the desk. Unsure what to do with her hands she left them hanging awkwardly at her side and watched as Vladimir glared at her gift and huffed.

“What did they give you in return. What kind of deal?” Vladimir asked shrewdly. Something in his voice made her turn her attention to him and he was staring at her intently.

“I asked them if they would be willing to swear their allegiance to you both and protect you both with their lives, if necessary. I also told them that they did not have to do something you ordered if it went against their belief system.” She stated as she felt it was more than fair with the men having already stated they had pledged as much. The last part was something she added on to give them a chance to not do anything illegal or untoward if they did not want to. At first, Vladimir looked ready to explode but as she watched him process her words he calmed. Silent, he merely shrugged and took a bite out of his food and went back to ignoring her. The defense she had prepared in her mind to what she expected as an outburst from him disintegrated.

 

“You can heal Sergei soon. If you wish. But first we have jobs for him.” Anatoly stated as he sat down beside her. Vladimir nodded out of the corner of her eye while he opened his food container.

“I know we have much to discuss but can I ask something first?” She looked towards Anatoly, and scooted closer to him. He nodded in acceptance.

“How do you feel about your hair?” His brow furrowed and he looked at her questioningly.

“Your new haircut. Does it bother you?” She reached up and to demonstrate her point she extended a hand and tugged on a few pieces at his hairline. “I did it to cover where the gravel had ripped open the skin and you lost pieces of hair. I can fix it with a hair growth potion if it bothers you?” She offered. As he allowed her touch she did not stop and ran her fingers through his short hair; softly scratching his scalp on the back of his head. His lids grew heavy and he sighed enjoying the attention, angling his head closer to her, and she huffed slightly at his antics.

“You guys know you look so much more alike with short and similar hairstyles.” She tossed a look back at Vladimir who had slouched back in his office chair, placed his feet up on his desk and watched them.

“Da (Yes). Toly, you are handsome, now that you look like me.” He stated as a mischievous grin grew on his face. Pleione laughed and pulled her hand back to cover her mouth. But Anatoly took her returning appendage and held it in his own. His fingers trailed across the top of her hand and over her scar.

“Words?” Any good humor Anatoly had, vanished. He looked down and adjusted his grip so he could see better. She knew what drew his attention. It was immensely private but she did not pull away. She would never hide her scars again.

  
“Yes. I was young, and I did what I thought best at the time. It was impulsive and foolish of me. A difference of opinion and I would not yield on my convictions regardless of the consequences. For my choices, I was tortured. Regardless of my power now, I was not always this way. It is a curse scar, done with magic and it will never heal.”  She let Anatoly touch her hand softly tracing the words and continued, “Impulsiveness is a character aspect of mine, that I have never been able to outgrow.” She lightened the mood with that admittance. Half a grin claimed her face, while her other hand waved at him, showing another example of her behavior.  

“For that I am grateful.” He responded with a tilt of his head. However, he was not deterred by her attempt at distracting him. He then tilted her hand so Vladimir could see the words carved into her hand.

“Your enemy did this?” Vladimir asked as he squinted to look at her hand and she merely nodded.

“What happened to your enemies?” Anatoly asked gently. Her magic took pleasure in their contact and she took a breath, centering herself, before she answered.

“Most are dead. Those that are not, wish they were. As does the one who specifically did this to me.” Delivered in a firm tone, that was her honest reply. There was darkness in her and she turned her glowing eyes to Anatoly.  She would not hide her imperfections or who she was. They knew her as a healer but she had been groomed to be a soldier since childhood. Tentatively, she squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. He did not flinch under her gaze and she could see him accepting this part of herself. She let go a sigh she did not know she was holding and her magic within her calmed.

 

 

Vladimir drew their attention and they changed topics, but Anatoly remained close to her throughout their discussion. Every few bites of food they spoke of their plan to retaliate against their enemy. She did not eat and instead devoted all her attention to their discussion. Pleione was more concerned for their safety but the brothers were focused on a bloody vengeance. They would need to split up to accomplish their tasks.

Anatoly was going to meet with some contacts to see if he could sway some of their associates to their side or to remain neutral. He was aware that there were others who worked with Fisk, like they did, and there would be a chance they wouldn’t be fighting just him and his men directly. Vladimir would address the men, as they wanted to attack that night or the following day once Anatoly received his answers.  The brothers were scarce on the details, often slipping into their native tongue, forgetting she did not understand.  Pleione reminded them of the possible magical unknowns, but they did not seem overly concerned, believing they would have been witnesses to magic before, and Anatoly trusted her to be able to handle it.

Soon she would go off to do reconnaissance for anything magically connected to Fisk and learn what more she could of America’s magical world. She also needed to consult someone about her magic and its attachment to Anatoly and though that was a priority _to her_ it could not be addressed until their mutual safety was assured.   

 

 

Opening her trunk, a sight that was not new to Anatoly, she _accioed_ spelled communicative mirrors from deep within. One was given to each of the brothers while she kept one for herself. Carefully she explained how electronics don’t mix with magic and this was how they could communicate with her if necessary. The magic was in the device itself and not powered from the user, so even muggles could use it.

Informing them that many of her allies had devices and they had to be specific in calling out to the one they wanted by name.  Vladimir appeared excited by the objects and kept trying to call Anatoly even though he was in the same room with them.

Indulging his younger brother, he would open the mirror and then shut it quickly, before Vladimir could even speak to him. Upset, Vladimir would then try to hail him again via the mirrors to swear at him for hanging up.

Pleione wondered how long it would go on for and after a few repetitions she had burst out laughing and did not even try to cover up her amusement at the two of them. It probably was not very funny, but with how serious things were around them it was a welcomed change, and it was good to see Anatoly more relaxed.

“You know you are going to have to call me by my actual name to reach me.” She mentioned to him, calling him out on the fact he never addressed her, so informally as he would describe it. Teasingly. she nudged his leg with her own.

Taking it as a challenge he pulled out his mirror and looking directly at her he asked for her just as he normally would. Not anticipating his actions, she reacted as quickly as she could, terrified for him. Pleione reached over him, almost diving across his lap, to try and grab the mirror before an actual Baba Yaga or supernatural being that traveled through or used mirrors as a part of their craft was drawn to him.

Disbelieving the ping resounded behind her, and she turned to watch her compact mirror glow, indicating she was being hailed. Like a fool she had frozen in mid movement, and turned up to Anatoly.

“How did that work? It should not have worked.” She muttered aloud more to herself than to either man in the room. Her magic could sense that the mirrors had connected and it was working. On a deeper level, she could sense no maliciousness or black magic nearby. Her magic sensed no threat and pulled back and into her. That was when she knew they were safe and it had worked properly.

 Pleione had observed the power in belief and wondered at what, she allowed, to come into being and evolve into. Or did it work because of their unknown connection? She was not exactly sure and was lost in her thoughts until Anatoly spoke, pulling her back to reality.  

“Why would it not work? You are my Baba Yaga.” He stated simply.

“Ours.” Vladimir interjected with a grumbled voice.

“Mine.” Anatoly repeated firmly without evening glancing at his younger brother. Instead he kept his gaze on her. “I prayed and you came. Mine.” He re-iterated while he put his large warm hands on her, and helped her right herself.

That left her speechless. Internally her magic was in full agreement and she could feel it spilling out and encase her. A part of her wondered if they could see her glowing because she could easily see the physical manifestation of her energy.

“There is an unexplainable bond between us.” She admitted vaguely while she rose off the seat. Physically and emotionally she tried to retreat, but she knew she could not stave off the conversation they needed to have, forever. But now was not the time to work on any personal issues. Though it was reasonable it was still an excuse. 

Anatoly stood as well and moved towards her until he was close, in her personal space. There was an intense and determined look on his face and it was clear he was going to pursue this discussion, at this very moment.

“Nyet, (No). Not unexplainable. We belong to each other. I feel it. You feel it.” He stated loudly and put a hand on her waist, drawing her against him. They were preternaturally drawn to each other and it took conscious effort to not lean into him. Her magic danced in the air and swirled around him. “Baba Yaga, I want us.”

 

 

All along her magic had been trying to tell her something. Instinctual it knew there was a bond between them. At his statement, her magic eased within, settling in agreement. That was telling in and of itself. She knew it and had been avoiding it for some time.

Anatoly appeared tense, waiting for her response. She felt weary, tired of sacrificing, of doing the right thing.

For once, Pleione wanted something for herself and she could not fight them both. Unable to deny her attraction to him as well as his attraction to her; it was time to give in. 

Slowly, she stretched up onto her toes and very gently kissed him on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth, and then burst into an unsupported flight spell, and made her way out of the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Since I invented this ship and made others crave it too, I fee like their should be a couple name. But all I could come up with was: Anatone, Anatter, Pleioly Pleihov, Potoly, Patoly. I do not like any of them? What would you guys pick? Maybe it is a sign? If you do not have an adorable functioning couple name then the relationship is doomed? 
> 
> Please note that I also posted the 1st chapter in the next part of this series and feel free to check it out if it interests you. It is a KarenxVladimir ship. Remember that though this is a series it is a soulmate series and each work is entirely independent and unrelated to the other fics. 
> 
> ***  
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	10. Chapter 10

 

New York City was truly beautiful. Pleione was sure she would never stop thinking that and hoped she would find her place within the city.  Since separating from The Ranskahovs a few hours earlier she had been focused on completing her tasks. Thinking militantly, she was efficient and finished her tasks one by one.  The past few hours were productive and she accomplished much in the short amount of time she had available. Already, she had reached out to Hermione and some of her contacts that worked as Unspeakables, regarding the changes in her magic and was awaiting their response. 

Upon introspection and with how connected she was with herself internally, she reviewed the happenings of the past few days and evaluated the changes. She was more in tune with the other part of herself due to her unique lifestyle than most magical beings. Once the Horcrux had been removed, it had affected her magic, and she had to adjust to be able to function. She had to basically relearn how to access and use her magic, and do it all over once again, when she had accepted her title as Master of Death and kept ownership of the Deathly Hallows.

Lately, the increased sensitivity and reactions was alarming at first but it was not as if her magic had gone out of her control; if anything, it was growing, expanding, and adding to her life.  It was clear these changes only started happening ever since she met Anatoly. Admittedly, she was attracted to him, but a part of her wondered if her magic hadn’t been so responsive if she would have given him a second glance. Her magic had been trying to tell her something and she knew she was going to stay around New York, and Anatoly until she figured it out.

 

 

Almost halfway done with her responsibilities she moved onto the next item, which was finding a more permanent place to stay. Travelling closer to New York’s magical district in Manhattan, she rented a room in a private hotel, The Sanderson Sisters. The tailored security and privacy practice they followed was what drew her attention. Magic registered her but her identity as Lady Pleione Potter was kept off the records.

She was several miles south from Hell’s kitchen and on lower Manhattan. The hustle and bustle was even more vibrant and that she had seen since her arrival. It was past dinner but not too late and the city was fully awake, pulsing with life. The lights continued to entrance her and she allowed the sights to keep her energized.

Her hotel room was spacious and had an air of understated elegance, toned with soft blues and grays. There was a bedroom, a sitting room, and a small kitchen area. Pleione rarely unpacked anymore and kept everything in her trunk so the space looked uninhabited except, for her Gringotts mailbox sitting out.

Shortly after checking into The Sanderson Sisters, she had received communication from the magical community. Overall, the correspondence from America’s magical community, the Magical Congress of the Unites States of America, was positive but she would need to settle in and read more of the packet she was sent. But, she would need to physically go check in at the Woolworth Building in two days.  Thankfully, they did not seem to notice her arrival earlier in the week.   

  

 

In between taking bites of a late dinner that was sent up, she finished writing out her requests for information on Wilson Fisk and his probable magical associates. Most businesses were closed but she sent them anyway, hoping they could work on her requests first thing in the morning. This way she would have something to report to Anatoly and Vladimir later on in the day when they met up.

Already, she had sent as much magic as she thought safe into the streets of New York searching for Fisk or anything familiar from her first night in America. Her search had turned up nothing and with the upcoming altercation that was going to escalate into violence, she wanted her magical reserves at optimal level, and eventually withdrew her energy.

A quick refreshing charm and a cleaning spell was not acceptable and Pleione took a real but quick shower, changed her clothes, and then returned to her work.  She had found several translation spells, but her most promising one only allowed her to understand but not speak the foreign language. To do so would require an advanced self- transfiguration that she was not comfortable with. It took time but in her youth, she learned that even magic had its limits and it was not always a short cut.

The spell she chose was out of a family Grimoire from an ended line. The Blacks must have mysteriously and violenttly acquired it, she was sure, but she was glad to have it. The spell did not appear complicated or overly taxing but it did require precision on how the magic was directed.  The instructions also encouraged it to be done under a new moon for lasting effects. She double checked her resources and she did not have most of the materials on hand. Thankfully, they were easy to track down, so she moved that to her tomorrow’s list of things to do for when she went out shopping.  

 

 

As she was sitting down to a late-night cup of tea, and about to start on her welcome packet, she unexpectedly received a response from Hermoine. The answer was surprising and brought more questions. A common result from most conversations with Hermione. However, she was not sure if could decipher the information and since it was obvious that Hermione was up early, she decided to hail her on the spelled communicative mirrors. Hermione answered with gleeful shrieks and it took Pleione a moment to get her words to be coherent.

Someone who was picked by Mother Magic just for _her._ Pleione could not believe it, but the number of books Hermione was sending through her Gringotts Box for her to read, _immediately,_ showed that several someone’s had given serious thoughts to magical soulmates or soul bonds.

 In a huff, she had ended her communication with Hermione only for her words to sink in and hastily reach out to her again. Now that she had a possible answer to the changes in her magic she was unsure what to do with the information.

“Why do you have to say anything. Or say anything right now? It may be a moot point. He already knows. You are both attracted to each other. So long as it’s a healthy relationship and you better each other, does it need to be defined? A part of him may be struggling on adjusting, or comprehending but deep down he already knows and has accepted it. Accepted you. And so have you, with him.”

 

 

The One Who Lived questioned fate and destiny again, but Hermione told her it was not designed like that. Things did not magically fall into place for them just because they were blessed. It would require constant work, like all relationships. He was a match for her soul, but he could not complete her, for she was already a complete being on her own. Magic just allowed an extra opportunity or chance to find the one or several persons that matched her soul, and would complement her, and enhance her life. Her best friend, since childhood, suggested she continue as she was, and for her to just let herself be happy. Ashamedly, she admitted she didn’t know how to be happy, and Hermione hummed in agreement before stating that she should try, and maybe, it was something Anatoly would help her with. He couldn’t make her happy only she could do that, but he could share her life and make her happier.

Oddly enough, Hermione told her, _she,_ was overthinking things and to just trust her instincts. They were always right and to not think too much. It was good advice, Hermione always knew what to do and what to say, she thought. Reflecting on the information she received she compared it to what had occurred. She could admit that with her magic glowing when she was close or in contact with Anatoly it could be interpreted as establishing their bond. Her magic soaking into him and he was accepting her on a primal level.

 

 

She was aware of him and more of herself since they met. In the past, she had dated and had lovers, but very few lasted any significant period. Already she could tell that her interactions, and dare she say relationship, with Anatoly was deeper than some she had in the past, even though they only knew each other a few days. Part of that could be due to magic, but part of it she felt was due to their joint experiences and their similar view on things. She did not know much of Anatoly or his past, yet, but he had lived a hard life, saw the darkness in the world and in himself. That was something she could relate to.

Pleione was not a hero or a savior, she was molded into a soldier and most of Magical Britain just did not understand that. Her magical community expected her to just move on and return to civilian life as an Heiress and throw parties. But she could not hide the violent or selfish parts of herself anymore. Both Pleione and her magic, all of her, wanted to pursue a relationship, to whatever end, with Anatoly. She was going commit to them and not let what they had be defined. Each day would be taken one at a time.

 

The first chance she got, she was going to tell him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> Anyone catch my nod to Hocus Pocus?? teeheehee  
> ***  
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time and Happy Holidays,
> 
> Ageless Light


	11. Chapter 11

Her English tea, now cold, sat next to her forgotten. Sitting at the small table provided in her rented room, she was focused on her tasks. Light emerald green colored eyes rechecked her work and reviewed the organized list of required magical items needed for the translation spell and where to purchase them for tomorrow. There was a knock on the door just as she placed her list aside.

Startled, as she did not request room service, she opened the door and recognized an attendant. Respectfully, he apologized for bothering her but he was instructed to inform the guests there was large scale violence, again, in the city. All residents were being checked on and encouraged to stay in, as the defensive wards were activating. Trying to reassure the Potter Heiress he explained the danger was a muggle problem and miles away in midtown. As she absorbed the information she felt a chill take over and her magic grew heavy and sunk deep within her. The way her magic went almost unresponsive during the attendant’s talk was alarming.

She slammed the door in his face. Which was quite rude of her but she would apologize later. Instincts flared to life and she just knew that Anatoly and his brother were in danger.  Taking a deep breath, she centered herself. Giving into panic or emotion would only be detrimental to their survival. _Balls-up._ It did not work and she had to take several more breaths. Muting, her emotions, and personal thoughts as best as she could and reached inside of her to let the soldier out. It jolted her system and her magic expanded and thinned pushing to every corner of her body. It was there, just under the surface, ready.

Before she could direct her magic, it was already packing the few items she had out and directing them to her trunk. Before she finished blinking the trunk shrunk, hopped, and clipped to her necklace. There was nothing left in the room that was hers, on the off chance she did not return. An amateurish mistake she had only made once in her past, when it ended up costing one of her friend’s their life.

Reaching along the connection she shared with her magic, she pulled. Molding it, and directing it to her desire. Her magic swelled within her and she had chosen the Lincoln Tunnel as her destination. It was the closest she could get to the corner of Hell’s kitchen she had been in previously. With an explosion of magic, she cracked some of the walls in her room, and apparated away, traveling through the buildings wards safely, without damaging them.

 

 

When she reappeared, her magic cracked with a sound as loud as thunder. It would have drawn attention if it had not been lost in the chaos. At first her senses were overloaded. Sight and sound was hard to process before she adjusted her stance on the pavement. There were explosions, fires, and tremors all around her. Muggle emergency crews were in every direction and people were running to safety, trying to hide in their homes or being directed away from the danger. It was difficult to see with all the smoke, ash, and debris in the air.

In a sea of activity, Pleione stood still and silent using only a few seconds to take everything in.  Even from her position she could see there were multiple locations in crisis. As an extra sense, she pushed her magic outward to surround her in a bubble to feel. Concerned, she tried to call Anatoly and then even Vladimir on their spelled mirror. Neither answered.

_Merlin and Morgana_ she prayed. Asked for guidance. A quick _Point Me_ spell had her off running in the right direction. Trusting her magic, she sent tendrils of magic out searching for Anatoly. Using a _Point Me_ spell in a highly populated city could hinder or help her. Every few seconds she cast it silently, to ensure she remained on track.  Minutes passed and the magic she sent out into the city had found no results. In war, everything came down to seconds or brief minutes. Now, it was the same. But she still took time to help those she could on her way. Between the smoke and confusion, she could move undetected and casted magic when needed. Muggle New York appeared to be in a crisis and she could feel Death flitting about on the edge of her magical senses but he was not in the direction she was going so that information comforted her.

 

When her mirror pinged, and glowed out of the corner of her eye, she moved so quickly, she practically fumbled to open it.

 

It was Anatoly. _Praise Magic,_ she thought and though she felt relieved her magic was still tense and ready as if expecting an assault. There was blood on his face but he told her he was only struck by debris on his way back, and not targeted directly. He was close. She had been moving in the right direction to him. Not having been to his locations before, he provided visual landmarks and she had to apparate as far as she could see and then jump again, several times, until she was close enough to see him.

With a hoarse voice, he called out to her and she magicked directly to his side and released a relieved sigh. Some tension left his shoulders and they dropped minutely. As she reappeared they both reached for one another. Even discovering that Pleione was fine and uninjured did not lessen the grim look on Anatoly’s face. There was dust and ash on him, but besides the cut he was fine. His head wound looked worse than it was but he still refused her offer to heal him, asking her to save her magic. However, he looked as if he was on death’s door. It was impossible as she did not sense Death close by. Following the tread that linked her to Death, she knew he was aware of her presence but had no need for her and remain further up in the city.

Turning her attention back to Anatoly, it became clear soon why he appeared so broken and explained what was going on in the city. Fisk and his men moved quicker than they anticipated and attacked him and his people. Sadly, he reported that Madam Gao, one of the people he intended to meet had attacked his people in conjunction with Fisk. Thankfully, he had met with their account Leland beforehand and had proper warning against going to meet with her. If not, he would have walked right in and been killed. Judging by his tone and his posture it was clear most if not everything he and his brother shared was in ruins. He accepted it and focused on what was most important to him, his brother.

Pleadingly, he asked her help in finding his younger sibling. Of course, she agreed but admitted that her magic was only tied to him and few others. She could not use her magic to find Vladimir the way she had with him. Grasping his upper arm, she told him that she would try with all that she possessed and that when she cast her witches sense out in his building she had enveloped Vladimir. She knew if she felt him again she could identify him.

 

Out of concern for Anatoly, she stupidly offered to take him back to her hotel while she searched, but he refused. Which she knew he would have but she still felt the need to say it.  She had seen how close the Ranskahovs were and knew he would not leave his brother behind. Even when she expressed how much more difficult and draining it would be on her and she couldn’t guarantee his safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Balls- up- British slang/phrasing Does not refer to man’s testicles. It is an old ship saying as crew would hang giant balls to warn away/call other ships during a disaster/emergency. It evolved into meaning the situation has gone wrong/fallen apart.   
> Hell’s Kitchen-aka Clinton and Midtown in Manhattan. Area covers 34th Street and 57th Street, from 8th Avenue to the Hudson River.  
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> *****  
> Happy New Year and Friday the 13th. ooohh. It’s also a full moon, so double whammy. It may not seem it but I did work on this fic over the holidays. I went back over the past few weeks to make edits. No changes to the story just grammatical checks and fixes. I continue to write and this story continues to progress and is almost over. I hope you have been enjoying my fic so far. Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments  
> .  
> Thank you for your time,  
> Ageless Light


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still reading this? Seriously? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

The crowds were thinning out; by now mostly everyone had sought shelter. The roads were closed and only emergency personnel, reporters, and the occasional straggling New Yorker was about. Anatoly was also still at risk from Fisk and his associates. To pass by undetected they had to resort to magical means.  Because of those adjustments, Pleione had to operate under a small arsenal. Strategies restricted due to their environment where whittled down and she hoped that tactically they could do things right and accomplish their goals.

Vladimir’s safety was their priority. Beyond that if it was possible to rescue other men and resources then they would attempt to do so. Unsuccessfully, they each tried to hail him on the mirror. Without a response, Anatoly grew more concerned as time passed. There were multiple locations the younger Russian could be at physically and if they guessed wrong not, only would it be time consuming but it could potentially cost him his life.  

Pleione could not find Vladimir amongst millions of people, but she could find Anatoly and she was getting desperate enough to consider a dangerous idea.

“I know this is personal but you and your brother are actually blood related, right?” She queried.

“Da.” He confessed while looking at her in confusion. While she busied herself with summoning items out of her trunk she offered her line of thought to him. “I consider Hermione and Ron my siblings even though we are not related. So, I wanted to check if you were biologically related because I have an idea on how to find him, in all this mess.” They were crouched down, between two streets and hidden among the shadows and clouds of dust.

 “Da. I remember when Volodya was born. Quiet only when I held him. I promised our parents I would always look after him. You can truly find him?” His voice was rough and desperate. Her eyes found his and held them.

“I think so.  I can’t find him but I can find you anywhere in this city.” Pleione stated as she held up a medium mirror, one would use to shave or put on make-up with, between them. Absently, she reached out her hand and wiggled her fingers trying to grasp his but only got air. 

“But I am here. How will that help?”

“Because you share the same blood. I’m going to use that familial connection.” She gave a slight pause and then continued, “Anatoly, I am going to need some of your blood.” She informed him and before she could hand him an athame he already clicked a knife out and was ready. Lurching over she grabbed his arm preventing himself from following through with slicing himself open in eagerness.

Beseechingly, he asked her, “Pozhaluista. Whatever you require Baba Yaga. Pozhaluista (please), save мой брат (my brother).”  Words seemed hollow and even magic had limits so she nodded and reached for him, squeezing his hand.

A runic array was drawn onto the pavement with her standing in the center. After he cut himself shallowly and his blood dripped onto the mirror she held flatly, she began her work. With apprehension, as she read but never tried this art, she weaved her magic through an old ritual that tracked blood relatives. Technically in Britain her current work would be considered of the black arts as it was blood magic. There were powerful healing spells and many runic rituals tied with blood magic. The rest of the magical world was not as narrow sighted as Britain, and since the blood would not be used to control anyone, it would hopefully slip under America’s radar. Mother Magic could read intent, and she was desperate to find Vladimir for Anatoly, so though inexperienced with this rite she pushed her intent out into the world and prayed magic would answer.

 

 

Pleione feared if she did not find him in time, Anatoly would never recover.

 

 

Anatoly’s fresh blood inched along the mirror, searching for more of its kind, like a liquid compass. Hunched over close together with the mirror being held between them, they waited for the magic to connect and point them in the right direction. Every minute passed felt like an hour and the lines grew on Anatoly’s face as his expression closed off. It did not seem as if he doubted her but it was clear emotions were starting to overrule him as desperation started to sink in.

Her magic crackled along the outside of her skin. It picked up Anatoly’s fear and anger clearly, and she was glad that the magic was already in the works, and didn’t require as much of her focus as before. It was distracting and worrying. She wasn’t sure if it was the right time to talk, but she hated silences, and could no longer stand how tense Anatoly was. Trying to help and pass the time she spoke.

“You truly believe that these disturbances throughout Hell’s Kitchen were an attack on you and your brother’s business? What did you do for a living?” That got his attention.

“We created our own business. A taxi service.” Pleione could not keep her expression neutral as she looked at him and thought back to how they met, and the injuries she had healed from both him and his men. “Also, we used taxi to transport drugs. Madam Gao’s heroin. Involved in arms dealing, among other things.” There was no inflection and only an even tone, one of acceptance, when he spoke of his dangerous and illegal business. Anatoly did not give copious amounts of details.  Pleione learned that she wasn’t pulling teeth with him, so to speak. It was just that he was short, direct and to the point in his speech.  

The opposite of her; Pleione was verbose and often rambled on, but only when she had something to say.

Cruelly judging someone without more information, caused problems. However, everyone was entitled to their privacy. Details would be appreciated but it was rude and unnecessary to know everything. It sounded like Anatoly was a good man, but did not do good things. That was relatable and she thought to when she was a fugitive; often breaking rules, laws, and partaking in illegal activities. She tried not to judge but something set off her magical core and when the time was right she would ask questions that she may not want answers too. But hopefully they could face it together.

There was something unspoken, a feeling she picked up from him that she did not have the time or the focus to identify. Though they had verbalized their commitment to each other and an intent to see where their relationship could go, it was easier said than done. No one was perfect but every aspect of each other had to be accepted. So far, there had been no time devoted to really opening to one another, and Pleione suspected they would each have to come to terms with parts of the other that was not ideal. Just like everyone else. In the end, she hoped it was something she could adjust and accept and learn to live with. 

Despite the violence that was a central part of her life, Pleione could still claim proper morality. The high road was taken and she could mostly justify her acts through protection or defense of others. As the Potter Heiress and Lady of House Slytherin, through conquest, and The One Who Lived, her entire life was lived in shades of grey. It was not law that ruled Magical Britain, it had been emotions, beliefs, and judgements. Those had ruled her too.

Hopefully, he would speak more of himself down the road when the time was better. For now, she tried to convey that what he shared was enough and she admitted,

“I killed people. Made deals. For revenge, security, and for other people’s lives.” Her first victims, unintentionally, had been her parents and Cedric. Then she learned from her mistakes and grew into the warrior she was. But no one was forgotten, not even her enemies. They kept her company as the years passed.

 

After a time, and once the blood congregated in an area on the mirror it was up to Anatoly to deduce what property it was referring to. A _Point Me_ was usually dangerous in a city and could only be used in certain circumstances, as it never accounted for buildings or height. So, she employed her previous strategy and apparated in small jumps throughout the city to bring them to the location he insisted his brother must be at.

Coming out of apparition, brought them back into a thick cloud of smoke and ash. They were within viewing distance of a building barely standing, and on fire, surrounded by muggle emergency crews. They could not get too close and when she cast out her magical senses she could tell that Death had already accomplished his work and moved on. It was closer now, no longer in the back of her mind or just in her periphery. She has felt it before, when Death would begin to circle, waiting as one’s physical life drained and eventually ended.

There was a prickle of awareness that she felt in her heart and she returned her focus to the man next to her.  Anatoly reported where his brother usually was within the building and based upon the blast radius he was close but on the other side of the building. Up and over they went and with magic avoided the muggles as they searched and leaving Death behind.

A few alleyways over she detected injured but living men, and headed in that direction. What greeted them was both good and bad. They came across Sergei’s body and Pleione lost her breath for a moment. Casting a quick prayer to him and his family was not nearly enough for what he deserved but she had to move on. Grief and burial of the dead had to wait until the living were safe. She grabbed Anatoly’s hand to offer comfort but he spoke in hope stating that Sergei never would have left Vladimir unless he was dead. Another glance around confirmed that the blond Russian they were looking for was not there. Instead, they were gaining on the trail and he believed that his brother was close by. With his permission, she cast a cooling charm on the body, and then apparated him back to her hotel room, so they could bury Sergei later.

Within less than a minute she was back at Anatoly’s side. Magic was circulating throughout her body, and she felt the tingle of power. Magic was like a muscle, and though she was exerting energy, she was well trained and knew how to conserve and endure. Her body felt like it was coming alive, not weakening, and her core desired to be truly unleashed.

 

 

Quickly, before more muggles arrived they moved on. Every few steps Pleione cast out her magic into the surrounding area. It soaked into the air, into the ground, and every structure possible. Unless her target was magical she was unable to detect any passage or trail. They used most of their senses and carefully looked over anything for a sign of Vladimir’s passage.

It was too time consuming and she realized they needed to change tactics. Magic was her domain, and Anatoly always reacted positively with her casting.  Without discussing it with him, she pushed some of her magic out of her body and into three small objects that were forever attached to her person.

 

The power given to her at birth merged with the power of the Deathly Hallows and she reached for the veil and called Death to her to _summon_ aid and answers.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> 1) is anyone still reading my fic? Did anyone like the long chapter?  
> 2) Does anyone every read these notes? If so, I have had this planned down the second to be as accurate as possible. So if you think about it, in this chapter and the few before, Death flitting about where a lot of the Russian's died and then 'circles' when the cops begin shooting the surviving ones. This is happening while Vladimir and Sergei barely escape. Death is that close now. So Vladimir was "fine" and not near death. The injuries would not have killed him. It is only as the night progresses that he gets shot, and beaten that he dies and is revived so guess where we are now! So as out couple closes the distance and time to Vladimir, we are reaching his end. Neat huh? Did anyone catch that when I started sprinkling those bread crumbs?  
> 3) When I started planning this fic I knew 4 things I wanted to happen/occur: 1) Ranskahovs live 2) PleiAtoly 3) Death makes an appearance 4) A secret that will come up in next chapter. From there on I had an outline and had to fill in the blanks. So I very interested in the feedback in the last few chapters, this one, and the upcoming one. So even though the next chapter is done and I am trying to edit it, all i do is keep playing with it, because its not "perfect" in my eyes. 
> 
> Beta-ed by: No one. If someone is interested in being my beta please contact me.  
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> I welcome and encourage you to check out the 2nd and entirely unrelated installment of this series. It is already up and is a KarenXVladimir pairing fic!  
> ******  
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	13. Chapter 13

 

Frustration began to creep into Pleione’s body and crawl along her spine as Death took Its bloody time to answer her. The only unbeatable force in the universe was beyond most people’s comprehension and It was most certainly, not in her control.

Their relationship had not progressed since she accepted the Deathly Hallows. Death saw her now just as It did upon their first meeting. With a mixture of fondness and exasperation.  Well, their first meeting she remembered, but was told It always checked in on the Peverell descendants as centuries and generations passed. Apparently, she was the most interesting and the only one since The Original Three that had the potential to be the next owner.

Everyone answered to Death, no one escaped Its grasp. And Death would never answer to anyone or anything. It reigned supreme, the one thing all living creatures shared.  She never asked, but a small part of Pleione wondered if Death was bored and being “ordered” around by the “Master” of Death amused It. Mortal creatures always captivated Death, and It was even more curious on how Pleione handled her unique abilities and responsibilities. She had advantages now because of this role yet rarely called upon them, which fascinated It. Death did not understand why Pleione did not always use this option. 

Eventually, though actually a lot sooner than it felt like, the entity appeared in front of her. Pleione knew Death could have been instantly in front of her had It so chosen. Instead in an act of rebelliousness or to show what little importance Pleione had; It appeared when It deigned it necessary. 

 

 

It was incorporeal and always one for the dramatic, currently, flitting through after images of those taken through the veil. Millennia had passed since anyone healthy and living had physically seen Death. Anatoly could not see Death but human instincts recognized a predator. He drew closer to Pleione and looked at her questionably. Tension filled his tall frame. She threw a look of acknowledgement at him and his unasked question but also conveyed that she would explain later. Reaching along her link to Death she inquired after a mere mortal. The image of a small child with its tilted to one side, with a gaze far to mature for its eyes stared at her, unblinkingly for a time.

“Already, he has touched the veil.” It spoke in a voice that was inhuman, it resonated inside her mind as well in her ears. An invasion and yet a part of her, her magic did not even stir.

“He is not allowed to cross over through the veil fully.” Normally, Pleione was polite, and it showed in every action. She ultimately cared about everything and everyone.  One does not order around a superior being, but after dealing with Death half a dozen times over the years, asking only annoyed It. Asking was an illusion and she would not waste either of their or the Ranskahov’s times. Vladimir Ranskahov was off limits to Death today.

No one escaped Death forever, but if It was somewhere and did not focus Its attention or use energy to pull him threw the veil, he would have a chance. Cruelly, the form in front of her phased into Sergei for a few breaths. Burns and bullets holes showing; an exact replica of the body they recently recovered.

Then Sergei’s injured hand pointed to an abandoned warehouse within view. Empty, dead eyes kept her gaze and it stated, “I will keep the door open between worlds. For now.” Another shift, and she was shockingly, looking at Sirius with a flat affect. A poor imitation; as he had always been so animated even in death. She hated when It did that, showing her loved ones. Those she refused to call upon even with the stone as their time had passed. It would only hurt them now to be among the living. The temptation and desire was there but she refused to summon her loved ones every again.

Death just stood there before giving a mocking bow and then moving out of her sight and away.  She felt hollow and as if the energy of the earth was pressing down on her figure.

Numb, trying to get back to the present she turned to Anatoly and pressed her face against his chest. Immediately, his arms came around her, enclosing her. His arms were strong, too strong and his form stiffened as he hoarsely voiced what was on his thoughts. 

“мой брат (my brother), Baba Yaga? Is he…” He trailed off unable to even verbalize his fears. It was his question that grounded her and brought her back to reality, and away from the essence of Death and the afterlife.

“We have a chance. Death has allowed him to come back and showed me where we need to go.” She whispered, not at all feeling like a strong powerful Goddess. Startled grey-blue eyes that reminded her of home, stared at her looking for reassurance that he heard her right. She nodded and then muttered a, “hang on.” Wrapping her energy around them, she then pulled from her magical core. She tore apart time and space and traveled in the direction she was instructed.

 

 

Coming out of apparition was a bit unsteady and threw her off for a moment. She had landed fine, but Anatoly had fidgeted. Though they had jumped many times this night, he still was adjusting to magical travel or it could have been a side effect of his emotions and his frantic mind. There was a rushed string of Russian words, and Pleione wasn’t sure if the man next to her was cursing or praying. Probably both, she mused.  Death had told the truth, as evidence by the muggle emergency crews that had surrounded the building.

A pulse of magic was sent out, infecting everything around her and moving outward. Like sonar, it helped her map the area and extended her senses. Flaring up like the sun her magic touched a familiar energy signature.

“I found him.” She exclaimed breathlessly as she sent tendrils of magic towards their goal. The feedback indicated he was at the bottom of the building and muggles were entering the building and would soon find him.

All her attention was focused on the information she was absorbing, but she could still detect Anatoly’s eyes on her. _Always on her._ Pleione was incredibly self-aware and though she swore to do all she could to recover Vladimir even she doubted herself. Yet, as her magic fluttered along his frame, moving his hair or clothes slightly, it knew he never doubted her.

“Stay close to me and as quiet as you can, I am going to take us in.” Using apparition to land in an area that was open to muggle weapons was inadvisable. A quick silencing spell followed by a dis-illusionment charm layered itself over them. Though unable to be seen, human instincts were powerful and they could still be detected.  Cautiously they continued. Anatoly was so close to her she could feel him shiver as her magic latched onto his form. Quickly, her hand reached out for his and squeezed it gently. Thankful it was night, she burst into an unsupported flight spell taking Anatoly in his physical form and placed them on the street in the middle of everything.

She could feel the younger Russian, more so now that they were closer. He was injured as his aura flicked. Though she could in a way, see him, she could not figure out how to get to him. It was as if he was underneath them but off to a side. Enclosed as well. None of which made any sense to her. The amount of magic needed to map out all the materials and their positioning between them would not only draw the attention of the Magical Americans but the muggles just as easily.

 

 

Time was running out. On one hand, they could go after his pursuers, of which more were being sent, and be stuck in the middle trying to get to him. They could be blocked exactly how the muggles were being blocked. Or they could search for another way in. It was exactly like trying to figure out which precise destroyed building he was in earlier.

With the need for more information so an informed decision could be made she moved them off to one side, away from where anyone could run into them. Swiftly, she gathered her magic and weaved the threads into a familiar and frequently used spell chain from the old days. A Notice Me Not spell was cast with a greater silencing spell and disillusionment charm released directly after. These spells covered a small area and would envelope any magic done in this area. The spells required low level energy and were neutral. They would be undetected and it was more of how to combine and layer them that took magical beings the most time to learn.

All of that was to build a foundation and set up a space for what she really wanted. Surrounding them, was noise, and energy. She latched on to that, added her own magic and picturing what she wanted in her heart, in her mind, and willed it into being with a muttered,

“ _Serpensortia.”_ And called forth a snake summon.

Snakes and magical snakes were sentient beings that had many uses depending on the situation. They were not all alike. Overall, snakes had heightened hearing along with smell and taste. But, she molded her magic calling for a type of snake that would help with search and rescue and released her spell.

A small snake only about a foot wide appeared on the ground next to her. It was a pit viper, thin and better mobility than most serpents. What set it apart from other reptiles was the impressive sixth sense of heat receptors, and its ability to sense heat from off other creatures. 

With quick reflexes Anatoly dragged them both back and spat on the ground. Asking him if he was afraid of snakes or superstitious would have wasted time, instead she kneeled and spoke, requesting aide of the mighty hunter in parseltongue.

The small snake with its incredible senses was overwhelmed by its environment and hissed angrily at being disturbed and called. As its summoner it was already pre-disposed to at least listen to her. But as a speaker, Lady Slytherin, and Slayer of the Basilisk, she was kin.

Once it was calmed and heard her plea, it instantly agreed to help search for a way to reach her _wounded nest mate_ as Vladimir was labeled. Sensing air flows, smelling blood and open wounds, it moved around, slithering into small spaces that they could not travel and began tracking its way to their target.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****  
> Notes:  
> 1) Pit Vipers. They are real and they are 1 of 2 snakes (according to my research) that can actually do the heat receptor, 6th sense thing.   
> 2) Bloody- British slang. It is a swear word. Bad Pleione, ladies do not swear.   
> 3) Master of Death- What I like most about the Harry Potter world is that its writer is "vaguely specific." Leaving many things to be interrupted multiple ways. I really wanted to ad some definition to the Master Of Death that would be plausible with the HP world, but still conceptualize it for you readers. I am sure there are a million different ways to be "Master" of Death, but this avenue I have been slowly teasing out as the characters grew and developed depth. 
> 
> Disclaimer- I own nothing of Daredevil or Harry Potter. Nor do I do any of this for profit.  
> ******  
> So this was sitting in my drafts folder- all done and i just never posted it, didn't realize it was not posted. Then I got sick. I'm sorry for the wait. Thank you for your patience and I hoped you enjoyed the latest chapter. The next chapter is also done and just in the edit stage and will be up soon! Thanks to all those that have been messaging me or leaving me comments. Special cyber cookies to those who have offered to be readers/betas. I am still trying to get this all worked out! 
> 
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	14. Chapter 14

Tunnels. It was what was beneath them. Sprawling tunnels that helped develop the original infrastructure of New York City. Utility tunnels, transit tunnels and what was probably secret tunnels and pipelines were underneath them. Some in use, many forgotten or without purpose as the city modernized. There was an entire city underground and it explained why Pleione’s magic could detect the Russian but not get to him on her own.The snake traversed the odd layered terrain with its extra senses and made comments to help Pleione plan a route. Hot, stale air, and other descriptions though small were hard to translate into a meaning she could understand, but they persevered.

 

 

Anatoly was a man that relied on himself. He was aware of strengths and his limitations. To be so close to his brother but to be useless would have eaten at many. Prison taught him patience and the importance of timing, and lesser man would have interfered with Pleione as she tried to figure a safe way in and out with her possibly having to magically carry two grown man.

Only, that would have then extended their timeline and put his brother at risk. So, Anatoly moved until his back was nearly against Baba Yaga’s and watched their surroundings, allowing her to focus on her task.  She was so focused, that their safety could be at risk, and it was Anatoly’s self-appointed task to take up watch.  It gave him something to do but deep down he recognized that beyond his new role he was useless. Pride could destroy a man and few would admit at weakness, but he rationalized it that the best qualified person to save his brother was working on doing just that.

Pleione was aware of the immovable Russian near here and his silent presence comforted her. Even her beloved friends would question or negotiate or even just draw her attention away from the priority. Anatoly recognized this was her area of expertise and let her take the lead. Just as she had most of the night. Not having to settle disputes between Ron and Hermione while a task was at hand, or explain every little step, was a relief and his actions endeared him to her even more.

 

 

She would repay his quiet confidence and belief in her by returning his brother to him alive.

 

 

The pit viper was a perfect choice in gathering information and once enough of the layout was described she could formulate a way to enter and to exit.  There was the possibility of apparating to where ever the mirror was, but that did not guarantee the location around the mirror was clear for people. She could send them into a wall-killing them instantly. Without a safe lactation and a clear destination in mind they could be worse off than when they started.

Unsupported flight spell was the best option. With small quick words, she updated Anatoly and warned him of the amount of movement they would be doing and the number of _aggressors_ the snake smelled that were getting close. It was when the snake informed Pleione that he smelled another wounded man that was moving away from Vladimir, she took her chance and molded her energy to her will.

Seconds passed as she raced along the route chosen. It was not direct; filled with twists and turns and moving from large open spaces like a pipeline to traveling through ventilation shafts. Sometimes she would go down several levels only to race up facing her actual destination.

Coming down from a drainage pipe the pair appeared in a bricked utility tunnel. Instantly her eyes made out the only other form. Vladimir was leaning against the wall and shuffling away from them, carrying what appeared to be a large gun. 

A string of Russian left Anatoly’s mouth as the raced towards Vladimir. In order to protect them her magic had been waiting to unleash itself against enemies. Layers of spells were woven as her feet carried her closer to the injured man. Vladimir looked startled for a moment and his reaction in raising the weapon was slow, but as realization sunk in he looked only at his brother and muttered something in Russian. Judging by its tone it was filled with confidence at his brother’s appearance. He knew his brother would come for him, he only had to hold out.  There was no time for a reunion so she spoke right over Anatoly,

“Fair warning, getting us out of here will be painful for you.”

“I’ve had worse.” He muttered in a tone filled with pride as blood dripped down his face from his mouth. The irritated and pained look on Vladimir’s face lessened. The planes on his face smoothing out as he looked at her, and for a moment, she took that as welcoming a greeting she was going to get.  With his verbal response as permission and with her magic growing agitated at the closeness of the enemy, she grabbed onto Vladimir with both hands. Immediately, and without hesitation, Anatoly reached for her, his grasp strong and firm.

 

Then they were gone.

 

 

Though they shared blood and Anatoly was accepting of her magic; it would be foolish to assume Vladimir was as well. Verbally, he agreed but her magic was still foreign and invading his body. Getting it to accept on a cellular and instinctual level was a valid concern.

Pleione was also unsure of how his body would react even if it did accept her magic, and how it would absorb her energy.  Just once she brought up asking for help,

“There could be others, more talented than I, that could save him.” She leveled a serious look at Anatoly trying to get him to realize that even she could be in over her head. Doubt crept in, and it must have showed on her face, because Anatoly shook his head negative in response to her question and placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Nyet (No). We will try first. I pray to you Baba Yaga and believe in your magic. How can we help Volodya?” 

That was a good question, she thought, and it wasn't easy to answer. Everything was a concern and for a frantic moment she was not sure what she needed to work on first.  Frowning, Anatoly informed her that he was familiar with breaking bodies not mending them, and never treated anything beyond an occasional stitch or setting a bone. So, he would become her assistant; following instructions and working on tasks that would allow her to concentrate fully on Vladimir. She explained about the importance of putting him in a coma and in stasis so they had time to diagnose his injuries and treat them. As she worked, Pleione related Vladimir's case to how she had originally handled Anatoly’s injuries. With treating one thing at a time and waiting for his reaction. With approval given by Anatoly for his brother, both verbal and felt by her magic, the first thing she did was place him in a medically induced magical coma. Followed by the strongest stasis charm she knew. 

 

 

The previously unblemished room filled with unobtrusive luxury and spoke of modern civilization, was transformed in only a matter of minutes. To Pleione, it looked like a safe house in the middle of a war. Juxtaposed to the comforts of domesticity, there were weapons and supplies scattered around the room. Blood, potions ingredients, and magical artifacts, somehow had gotten onto almost every surface of the room.  Swiftly and with precision her hands roamed over medical supplies, ignoring the throwing knives Anatoly kept producing and stashing anytime he moved around the rooms to have within reach, and focused on prioritizing what needed to be healed to ensure Vladimir made a fully recovery.

 

It was amazing how the human spirit operated. Vladimir should be dead, and even with Death’s assistance, there was only so much a body could take.  His accented voice echoed in her head,

 

“I’ve had worse.”

 

Based upon the diagnostic charm she had just cast; Vladimir’s earlier statement was completely true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) did you see what I did there? I totally paid homage to the amazing scene between Wesley and Toly in the garage!  
> ****   
> Up Next: Some PleAtoly time! Finally! it's been long overdue. 
> 
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


	15. Chapter 15

Now that she had seen both of their physical and medical histories, and it was clear the Ranskahov brothers had been baptized by fire. Their brutal history defined them and helped shaped who they became as men. Their resolve to endure was admirable and though the diagnostic charm labeled them completely human, she almost did not believe it.

Some of the major concerns besides blood loss, was the internal bleeding and bruised organs from blunt force trauma. Several bones were broken, and pieces were floating inside of Vladimir. The burn and further discovery of the bullet had Anatoly spewing with rage but his hands never shook as he passed her what she asked for. The head trauma was the priority and they monitored the possible swelling of his brain constantly. Healing the brain was something she was unskilled with. Occasional concussions and head trauma was one thing, but having possible damaged tissue from lack of blood and oxygen to his brain from when he died? She wondered if the reason Death had been so accommodating was because it knew Anatoly’s Vladimir was dead and this was just what was left of his beloved brother.

While Vladimir remain in a magical coma and his conditions in stasis, every option to save him was considered thoroughly and then heavily researched to learn if it was a viable possibility. Dark and even Black Art magics were studied. Anatoly not only spoke English but could read basic as well, so he helped her in research. Pleione used the same methodology on Vladimir as she did healing Anatoly. It took more time, but left less room for error.  
Injuries were prioritized and treated separately, before moving onto the next concern. But even healing had its limits and it seemed the best method would not be in treating his head injuries but negating it from every happening, and erasing its wounds. It was a ritual found in a Black Family Grimoire and was clearly of the Dark Arts, but Pleione felt it gave Vladimir the best chance. The power and skill needed to save Vladimir, was something Pleione easily could provide. It was the time and attention to detail that she had to focus on, while preventing any magical backlash or tendrils escaping the heavy warding they were under, and alerting the magical community.

 

 

As the hours became days and then weeks Vladimir’s condition slowly improved. As time passed, he was taken out of magical stasis and revived. He could be conscious and even coherent at times while the couple worked on his less threatening injuries. During this time, they learned a lot about themselves as well as each other.  
The relationship between Pleione and Anatoly was still so new and the current situation was not easy on either of them. Steadily, they learned the small everyday things about one another as well as what defined them. Being in close quarters constantly driven by intense emotions and severe stress showed parts of themselves they kept hidden from the world for years.

 

In his worry over his brother, and anger at losing all he worked for, along with other friends and family members; Anatoly was at his worst.  
The highs and lows of his moods were witnessed by Pleione who learned only through it happening when he would welcome her presence or when he would focus inward and shut down to the outside world. It became clear that he was still affected by moments in his past. She learned that he slept during the day or when there was at least lights on and did not tolerate darkness well. He had nightmares which would wake them both up, and he would spend days trying to avoid going back to sleep and her at first. His body appeared fit but on the inside, it was weathered. She would catch winces, or him readjusting his position based upon old injuries and she had to be careful when she touched him.

 

Despite his quiet and gruff exterior, he enjoyed conversation, but was just direct in his speech. He was naturally private and was learning how to offer up information about his past and opinions on current situations slowly.  
In pieces, his past came out, and the secrets he held reduced, one by one. After his mother’s death, she learned the brothers were orphaned and did whatever they could to survive. It was how they attracted the attention of the Bratva. The streets and later the Bratva shaped his view of the world and molded him into the man he was now. Lessons were learned the hard way and because of his past he was paranoid and independent to the extreme. Every day Pleione tried to show him that there was more to life, than taking and breaking everything, and everyone around him. Moments could be soft and gentle, even quiet at times. It did not lead to weakness.

 

 

There was evidence that even Pleione had imperfections and was not always at her best either. Being the One Who Lived, awarded her a lifetime under scrutiny and she hoarded her privacy and free time to a sacred degree. Every time she stepped out of her home she was judged. What she wore, where she went, and how she acted always created a lengthy discussion usually pointing her in a negative light. With her history of abuse, she was an insecure person, it showed in her actions.  
She was anxious about everything, and would constantly go over the plan or what was discussed to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Guilt and the death of hundreds still weighed on her, and she kept seeing other’s lifeless faces in her dreams and even when she looked at Vladimir.

They did not have fights, but they were each so unused to saying what they felt and wanted. Anatoly had always put his brother first and Pleione learned long ago that she could never make herself a priority. They both had moments where they would isolate themselves or fly in to a rage or turn defensive and it would totally surprise the other one. It was as if something triggered and set them off. Neither liked showing weakness or relying on others.

But then one of them would ask to talk and explain what had happened or what was going on, and get the other one to talk. Slowly, sometimes it took days, but then they would talk when they had a moment in between research or attending to Vladimir. Despite the adjustment and struggles they continued to turn to each other and offer their support.  
As hard as things got there was the moments that made it all worthwhile, like when she first heard him laugh. Anatoly rarely smiled, but when he did it was still a grim smile, no teeth. His laughter had a bark to it, as if slipped out, before he could control himself. It was clear despite his love and devotion to his brother he continued to hold her in high regards.

Time and effort was required on both of their parts. It was raw feelings and awkward on occasion, and they made mistakes but they worked together and offered their support to one another. It was real, but that was exactly what they wanted.

 

 

By the time Vladimir was up and trying to resume his independence and they could leave the suite regularly; Pleione had learned that she was not always being evaluated for weakness or inadequacies and someone would put her first. She could count on Anatoly unconditionally. Anatoly started to see the beauty in the world, not just weaknesses to exploit. He became more than an enforce of The Bratva and a brother to Vladimir.

 

 

If they made it through the trials of Hell’s Kitchen they could survive anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> I am alive. Thank you for your patience. I had an injury and the hurricanes in Florida where my family live took some of my attention. The rest I kept tweaking the chapter as I wanted it perfect for you readers. I hope you enjoyed this latest edition and there is only one more chapter to go!
> 
> Your comments fuel my passion for writing, so please leave me a review with your thoughts, advice, and comments.
> 
> Thank you for your time,
> 
> Ageless Light


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